


Tom Riddle and the Resurrection Stone

by RowboatTugboat



Series: Tom Riddle & the Deathly Hallows [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - World War II, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Magic, F/F, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Good Slytherins, Herbology, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, POV Tom Riddle, Parseltongue, Political Alliances, Politics, Pre-Canon, Sane Tom Riddle, Slytherin, Tags May Change, The Deathly Hallows, War with Grindelwald, hedgewizardry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-10-13 21:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17495360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatTugboat/pseuds/RowboatTugboat
Summary: Dumbledore up and died, and nobody knows how or why or what was he was doing going after Grindelwald alone?Tom Riddle was planning on playing a long game. He was going to bide his time and become the most magically powerful wizard that time had ever known, and then he was going to crush Dumbledore into dust and rule over the British Isles forever.But then his biggest rival conveniently gets himself murdered, throwing WWII-era Wizarding Britain into chaos, and the stage is set for Tom Riddle and his friends to swoop in and save the day. Or something like that.Tom Riddle isn't good, but goodness didn't really hold its own against the Dark Lord now did it?Tom Riddle-centered "for want of a nail" story of political intrigue and a violent war. Filled with dark magic and old magic and hardly any familiar faces or places. What does a  wizarding war look like when one side is trying to destroy the International Statute of Secrecy and the Muggle Second World War is just about to end?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever story (though I've read a great many), and I'm posting this first chapter to hopefully get an idea of how palatable the plot is. I've got the first several chapters written, pending editing, and I've got a pretty lengthy vision for this story.  
> As this is my first foray into narrative writing, I would really appreciate it if you let me know what you liked about it, if you see any problems, if you hate me forever, etc.
> 
> Tagging Note: Harry Potter will not be alive until part three. If you're here for ONLY Tomarry and not a fun-filled magical war, please come back in several hundred thousand words. We will get there, it's not a lie, but not a main part of the story right now.
> 
> And as a final note: Because I want Tom and his friends to have been out of Hogwarts for a while living life, and it seems like canonically he would have still been a student in March 1945 (unless my math is off, though I did doublecheck), he was born a year earlier! He and his year-group graduated in Spring 1944. Everything else is about the same, though I am changing the ages of some of the Black family members so they're not 13 and fathering children because, ew.

* * *

**1:30 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

 Caractacus Burke was not a nice man. He wasn’t pleasant to look at, or talk to, and he certainly didn’t have a lovely little wife and family like his little brother Herbert. But Caractacus did have one thing, he knew, with astounding accuracy, how much anything could be worth. Nervous little light wizards trying to get rid of some _questionable_ family heirlooms? Caractacus knew very well just how much each and every cursed jewelry box, _odeur de mort_ scented candle, haunted curio or boggart infested suitcase could be sold for. And what’s more, he knew how to put fear into the hearts of mortals.

“So you want to _keep_ these wares?” Caractacus sneered, “You’re confident of your ability to hide them from the Auror department are you?”

“What? No I—”

“If you don’t want to sell them, you shouldn’t have come in here. This is a place of business.”

“I do want to—”

“I’ve no idea what you could mean by showing off what appears to be _semi-legal_ merchandise to whoever you seem to meet—”

“Take them! Six sickles is the perfect price, thank you so much Mister Burke!” The white-faced milksop scooped up his silver and tumbled out the shop door.

Caractacus spent most of his time dealing with characters like this, poor idiots who had no idea what they had, and what they had was very often worth very little. However some people-

The shop bell chimed, drawing Caractacus’ attention.

“Ah! Miss Smith! Back again for more curiosities are you?”

Hepzibah Smith was nearly the same age as Caractacus Burke, but he knew that the self-proclaimed ‘Connoisseur of all things Hogwarts’ was a vain, priggish woman, and would drag out any future exchanges as reprimand for his _impropriety._

“Ah, Burke. It’s you.” Her smile fell comically.

“’Tis my shop.” He grinned at her now, showing off his tea-stained and crooked teeth.

She stared at his mouth for a moment, and when she looked up she pouted, “I had been hoping to see dear Tom today! It has been too long since he came to my home for some appraisals.” 

Caractacus determinedly avoided looking towards the door to the back of the shop, where he knew Tom was busy with the week’s accounting. Tom had only just _visited_ with Hepzibah last Thursday to flirt away her treasures at ridiculously low rates. Tom was magnificent at this, but Caractacus was more impressed with his singular composure in letting Hepzibah paw at him for the chance at her treasures.

“I am _sorry_ , Miss Smith, but _dear Tom_ has gone home for the day already. He finished his work early, you know how efficient he is.”

“Well!” she huffed, and for a moment she looked like she was going to throw some sort of tantrum, she quickly recovered and plastered an insincere smile on her face, “Tell him that I stopped by, I’m sure he will be just sick that he missed my visit!”

“Ta!” shouted Caractacus as the door slammed closed behind her.

Tom Riddle handled the books now. He hadn’t when he had started the summer before his seventh year. That summer he hardly looked a wizard at first, coming into work from war-torn Muggle London looking like a dusty street urchin. He magicked himself better clothes once within the shop, but transfiguration like that didn’t last forever. But Tom made commission working at Borgin and Burkes, and it was hardly three weeks before he had earned enough to look the part of a pureblood heir, working at the antique shop for the thrill of _history alone._ Intelligent, personable, and the very picture of what a fine young man should be, Tom made for an excellent employee.

Yes, Caractacus knew very well how much things were worth, and having Tom Riddle on staff was practically priceless. In the two years of his employ, even with Tom being in school for most of one of them, the shop had done better than it had in years, very nearly earning as much money as they had before the first round of laws against ‘dark magical artifacts.’

 

Tom looked up from his calculations as Burke walked into the back office. The room was mostly dark, save for the gas lamp on the desk, but it was well organized, just like the front room of the shop and the storage space beyond the second door. Just like how things should be.

“Yes Caractacus?” Tom asked before going back to his maths. He was almost done with the week. This pay period would be one of his biggest yet. He smiled to himself with that thought, he had not realized how much benefit he would get from working here. Learning about the dark arts, curse breaking, and history he had figured, but the _commission_! He couldn’t have envisioned a better way to kill two birds with one stone.

“I just avoided you another ogling session from the likes of one Hepzibah Smith,” Caractacus said gleefully.

Tom gripped the quill tighter, before looking up, “Oh? Was that her that was just in then?”

Caractacus grinned, “Oh yes, going on about how _dear Tom_ hadn’t been around in near forever—”

“I was just there last week!” Tom nearly shouted, but then he laughed “Thank you for sending her away, she responds better when I come by ‘because I was thinking about you, my dear Miss Smith’” Tom said, exaggerating his own genial way of speaking to customers.

Caractacus waved him off, “I’d rather you not put on your song and dance with her in my shop anyway.” He gestured towards the accounts, “You’re welcome to beg off once you’ve done with that, I’ll owl your wage transfer to Gringotts tonight.”

Tom thanked him and went back to work as Caractacus went back out the front.

 

Not too long later he heard the bell again, and then the muffled voice of Orion Black saying, “Is Tom here? I’m sorry Mister Burke but it is extremely urgent—”

“He’s in the back young master Black. He’s about done wi—”

“Oh, thank you Mister Burke!” Orion shouted behind him, as he was already on the other side of the door and panting right next to Tom. He put one hand heavily on the desk and held the other against the pain in his side.   
Orion looked up at him from the floor, "You wouldn’t believe... the news... milord!" Orion practically shouted between deep breaths.

Orion Black was normally very cheerful, overly affectionate, and sometimes nervous. The young heir of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was, as a rule, never discomposed, bar some of his most ardent, lovestruck exclamations of the beauty and virtue of cousin Walburga. Tom withheld a shudder, the _close familial ties_ between pureblooded families was something he would never understand. Taking pity on poor Orion, Tom demanded, "Come on, out with it Orion. I can’t imagine what would have you in such a state."

Orion nodded and in a swift motion leaned in towards Tom’s chair, grabbed the lapels on his robe and exclaimed, "Dumbledore has been defeated by Grindelwald! The news broke just this hour!" Orion was so overcome with his excitement to tell Tom that he completely forgot how much he hated to be touched, especially without having given Orion leave. Orion looked into Tom’s eyes, bouncing back and forth between them. He was delighted to have brought such important news to his leader.

Tom, taken aback by this news and overwhelmed with disbelief did not even notice Orion in his face and touching his person. He looked back at Orion for a moment, shocked stupid, before a sweeping giddiness overtook him and he, completely without his normal sense, said, "What?"

Orion, breathless with excitement now at the uncommonly insipid response by his leader, immediately let go of Tom’s lapels and stepped back. He instantly began to bounce on his heels as he continued, "He went to the continent to duel Grindelwald, they say,” Orion gestured, incomprehensibly, Northward towards the shopfront into Diagon Alley, “because he launched that attack on Dover and violated British soil with his dark campaign, you know how they like to phrase the _crimes of Grindelwald_ , and he was defeated! By Grindelwald! Near Cologne I think it was, though why there I have not heard, it was a special emergency bulletin on the WWN, although I’m sure there was something of value there, there must have been, of course, for it to be the place they met--"

"What do you mean defeated. Is he dead or not?" Tom interrupted, eyes shining as he contemplated this extraordinary news. If Dumbledore _were_ dead that would mean he would no longer be able to scornfully look down on Tom or reveal Tom’s greatest secrets, though Salazar knows how Dumbledore always seemed to know what he was up to.

"Well he is either quite dead or practically dead, there is not much to be had about the battle, it happened just today! But the language they used was 'defeated' so distinctly no coming back from it, it seems, though I’m sure we will hear mo--"

"Orion.” Tom interjected, placing his hand over the mouth of the chattering young man. Orion cut himself off and gazed up into Tom’s eyes. “We need to act swiftly. We need to fully understand the ramifications of this situation, and then move to make political action immediately based on what we can learn.” Tom began to pace as he spoke, then suddenly brought his hand into a fist before him, “We will no longer work from the shadows! This is a beautiful opportunity to bring back the old ways that Dumbledore so _despised._ Without him, we will be able to shape the future of the entirety of Wizarding Britain!” At this final proclamation, Tom made a sweeping gesture around him, and while under normal circumstances he would have looked rather silly making grand gestures and standing pompously in a small dark office, Orion was predilected to see him as looking very grand, indeed, and did not notice.

Tom had, for a long time, resigned himself to biding his time becoming the most powerful wizard in history, before he would storm the ministry and _take it_ from the weak, undeserving fools who had no understanding of the true nature of magic. It was well planned, and his followers were to aid and finance him in his mission. Around continental Europe, then to India, China, and Japan, Africa, Americas, wherever there was power to be had. He would become truly mighty, with no one holding him back. But now, why wait? He had been waiting until he had _more_ power than Dumbledore, _specifically._ To defeat the Light upon his return he would need to be assuredly stronger than their leader. But if what Orion spoke of was true, then there _was_ no leader, and without someone standing in Tom’s way, there would be no reason to postpone the inevitable. In fact, they could do it _legitimately!_ He could change the very face of British magic, without any cause for something like a civil war, no magical blood spilled whatsoever! Or, Tom considered, fairly little, all things considered. He was certain there would be some casualties either way, but this direction would sit better with some of his more delicate, aristocratic followers, like Orion and Abraxas.

Tom turned towards Orion, “We must go to the Ministry at once, we need to see how the Minister and the Wizengamont are reacting to this news and place ourselves at the center. This changes everything, all our plans must be adjusted with Dumbledore gone." Tom furrowed his brow. If Dumbledore was defeated and Grindelwald was victorious, that would certainly become problematic. Grindelwald was all “For the Greater Good,” whatever that meant, and was seemingly attempting to destroy the International Statute of Secrecy to get it. Tom had _just_ gotten out of a gods-forsaken muggle war zone. Wool’s Orphanage was in South London, and from what saw of Muggle London (after he had fully moved into the London Wizarding District) during the summer of 1944 with the V-1 rocket attacks, he knew better than to underestimate the destruction Muggles were capable of.  He had also been more than grateful to be safe at Hogwarts during the entirety of the Blitz, which had not gained him any favors from the loathsome muggle children at Wool’s when he had returned during the summer. Tom shook himself from those _pleasant_ memories and continued, looking up at Orion, “And we must also know how the wizarding public is feeling, do they understand the threat Grindelwald poses with no Dumbledore to defend them?”

Orion looked taken aback for a moment by the sudden seriousness that had followed the frantic eagerness of his lord, but he quickly realized Tom was quite correct: Grindelwald would not simply stop at Dumbledore. This matter was very serious, Grindelwald’s army had torn through Dover only days ago, and while the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee had been able to place the blame on the German muggle _Luftwaffe_ (some type of flying Muggle fighting force, Orion didn’t understand how that could be possible without brooms), creating imaginary battles in a muggle war would surely not work forever.

"You have your band?" Tom asked Orion, reading his wand.

"Of- of course, yes. Here it is." Orion held up his left wrist, showing a finely tooled black leather band with a silver buckle made from a snake coiled around a sword. The sword fit into the notches and kept the band in place. Tom had commissioned Mulciber to make them last summer, utilizing resources from his family’s workshop, and had later added particular enchantments of Tom’s own design. Orion was quite pleased with it, it always made him feel contented and like he belonged whenever he looked at it. Tom placed the tip of wand on the tiny silver snake and hissed a spell at it. Orion shivered from the startling combination of the sibilant parseltongue casting and the icy coolness of the band on his skin.

With a protean charm, all his Knights would feel it, and, with the layers of geomancy enchantments embedded within them, his followers that could come would be arriving shortly.

Several pops broadcasted the near-immediate arrival of Abraxas Malfoy, William Mulciber, and Geraint Rosier, with Rastaban Lestrange following a moment later. After nearly half a minute, a swoosh marked the stately arrival of Erwan Avery, and a dissatisfying loud crack announced Roderick MacNair.

Caractacus Burke shouted through the door at Tom, "I take it this ruckus means you're clocking out, eh Tom?" 

Tom, glancing towards the office door, shouted, "You’d best check the radio, Caractacus, something monumental has happened!" Turning towards his followers he noted the missing Rowle, Nott, and Dolohov. 

Tom turned and addressed his followers, who were attempting to look respectful while simultaneously struggling not to fall over each other in the small office, "I trust you have all heard the news?" Abraxas and Erwan nodded slightly, Orion, looked both excited and smug, William responded quietly, “Yes,” and Roderick practically bounced with excitement as he nodded happily, only Geraint responded in the negative, looking at his fellows confusedly, "I have been in the laboratory all morning, what is this news milord?"

Roderick looked about to speak when Tom cut him off with a harsh glare, "Dumbledore has been defeated by Grindelwald.” Geraint just looked at him openmouthed, “We must gather more information about this so-called 'defeat', as well as the public opinion on the matter.”

Tom looked at those assembled, “I am going to the Ministry, I have to schedule an appointment with Minister Moon’s office and I will try to narrow down who are the key players at this point. I have not been keeping up with current politics as I should have. You will all also be vigilant in identifying who has power now, or who is vying for it.” Tom looked at them sternly then. “Abraxas and Orion will go with me to the Ministry, we need to know how the Wizengamont council members and Ministry departments are going to respond in the wake of this.” Abraxas nodded, his father had been at a Wizengamont meeting scheduled for today, it had surely descended into chaos. Orion looked at Tom excitedly, a trip to the Ministry meant he could talk to Lucretia and Uncle Regulus and Aunt Lycoris and cousin Pollux in the Wizengamont and cousins Cedrella and Charis and if he was very, _very_ lucky, he could catch Cassiopeia.

Tom ignored Orion’s overt cheerfulness and went on, “Roderick, you will stay in the alley, I need you to keep tally on people’s opinions, in Knockturn, but especially in Diagon. You know how to listen in without being noticed. Are they more sad or terrified? We need to know if they understand how this effects the war. I am hoping for terrified, that will be easier to turn towards our goals.” Roderick nodded, then pulled out a brown worn leather notebook where he started to make a four-quadrant layout where he would enchant his quill to record conversations.

“Erwan?" Tom asked, turning towards the one whom he considered his closest…friend.

"I will come to the ministry with you, my Lord. I can speak to some of my mother’s friends, some of them, as you know, are high up in the ranks of the Ministry." Erwan said smugly towards the others. Orion did not notice and pleased at the thought of visiting at the Ministry, said, "I will be talking to my family! Is there anything you want us to say in particular? Only," Orion paused, suddenly uncomfortable, “We meet for dinner at Grandfather's behest every Saturday, so I will see them all tomorrow. It would be helpful if I had some, more specific reason, for talking to them today? I don’t want to seem to eager about the fate of Dumbledore you see.” Orion looked down sheepishly, worried for questioning Tom’s instructions.

Tom considered for a moment, “For Lucretia and your younger cousins, you can tell them we will be having a political organizing party tonight. Not a celebration, but some sort of action committee, or some such language. What do you think?” Tom turned towards his other followers at this point.

Erwan nodded, “It would be useful, and would allow for early support of whatever moves we decide to make. We can tell them about our individual projects,” he nodded towards William and Geraint, “and about whatever decisions you will make going forward.”

Tom considered, then said, “Abraxas?”

Abraxas stepped forward slightly and straightened, “I agree, a formal gathering of likeminded young _Dark_ wizards will be politically advantageous, especially if you wish to oppose Grindelwald at any point. If we do not act early, they might be swayed towards him and oppose British self-governance.” Abraxas turned away slightly, brow furrowed, “Many of our fellow dark wizards care more about the destruction of muggles than they do about ensuring our continued magical legacy.”

Abraxas had been one such wizard, quite a long time ago. His year group at Hogwarts were significantly older than Tom, and Abraxas had been quite caught up in sneering down derisively at poor, orphan, Mudblood Tom Riddle with his Slytherin classmates. Tom Riddle had proven his magical might not long after his arrival, and Abraxas had quickly changed his tune.

  
Tom nodded, acceding that point. “Tonight. At Seven?” He asked, looking for confirmation that they would be available.

“Nott should be able to host us! He just finished those renovations,” Orion suggested happily. Edward Nott was the de facto head of his family, as his father was very old and feeble. As a result, his home and family resources were often available for the use of the group. Edward even seemed glad to be exploited in this way, as it brought people around the estate rather frequently. The estate was large and lonely, and though Edward was a quiet young man who was best suited towards research, he appreciated the company very much. As long as it wasn’t destructive.

Tom nodded, glad that was sorted for now. Nott could prepare the party part, and Orion was sure to help him.  "Good. And for your older family, you can remind them of our plans for Alban Eiler."

"Moving on then. William?"

William Mulciber looked up at him from where he had been looking at leather cuff, "The alley as well, I think? I will need to go visit Wiseacre’s and see if this news has made an impact on our supply of defense products, and deal with the aftermath and order more raw materials if it has. I will keep an ear open for what people are thinking." He turned towards Roderick, “Would you want to meet up at the Leakey at four-thirty? I’d like to get your input on some prototype ideas, and maybe see if you can guess at what people might be likely to want for self-defense in the future based on what they’re talking about today.” Roderick nodded, and jotted down something on the top of his open notebook.

"Rosier?" Tom asked, looking at the young man who had been messing about in the storage shelving, and was currently quite enthralled by a terrarium filled with a dark black, assuredly dangerous, magical orchid that was sporting big blooms despite the office’s complete and utter lack of sunlight.

Geraint looked up, slightly startled, before replying, "Hogsmeade? I can go to McBloom & McMuck’s and pick up Morticians Patented Poisoned Poison-Plant Fertilizer and gauge the attitude in town.” Geraint considered the orchid he was holding, “Maybe go to Hogwarts to see Professor Beery and Pomona. Can I have this?" He waved the terrarium at Tom.

Tom, rolled his eyes and said, “Ask Caractacus on your way out.” He caught Geraint’s eye "Do you have a reasonable excuse to be there? It would not do to seem like you’re irreverent in your prying on the day of Dumbledore’s death."

Rosier shrugged, but his eyes gleamed with poorly concealed eagerness, "There is always new methods in hedgewizardry to be discussed.” He abandoned his attempt to hide his excitement as he exclaimed, “I can advance my Instant Heinous Hedge (The portable hedgewizard defense innovation of the century TM) cultivation project with their input, perhaps!" 

Tom just looked at him. Geraint Rosier was a strange mix of a wizard, a magically powerful, wealthy, dark wizard who was fanatical about herbology. "Yes, okay, Rastaban, the Prophet I imagine?"

"Yes, Tom."

"Does anyone know the whereabouts of Nott, Dolohov and Rowle?" 

Abraxas replied, "Edward is probably at the ministry, the Wizengamont was scheduled to meet before this all came out, my father went in this morning."

Erwan spoke up after Abraxas was finished, "Dolohov is probably with his family, they've been very worried about Grindelwald and his war. With this news, I'd be surprised if they hadn't called a 'spotkanie.'" Erwan was relatively close with Antonin Dołohow. After his family had arrived in England during the middle of he and Tom’s second year at Hogwarts, the boy had been violently angry and hadn’t had more than basic English conversation skills. However, Tom had seen how magically gifted he was, how quick he picked up spells, and how much he knew before arriving, and Erwan had followed suit when Tom had offered friendship. He had been to the family home on several occasions, and besides being filled with more relatives than he could imagine ever having, the home was warm and cozy and Pani Dołohow was always plying him with food. Even though Erwan had very little Polish language skill, he was still very well aware of the fact that the family would grow cold and angry at Grindelwald’s mentioning, and even though they were a family of dark wizards, the hated the self-proclaimed Dark Lord with a passion.

Tom nodded, Edward Nott was a Wizengamont council member, and couldn’t just leave a session. Antonin Dołohow’s family had numerous ties to the International Confederation of Wizards as well as the exiled Polish Wizarding Government. It was practically assured that Antonin needed to be involved at home. Tom queried, "Rowle will be at the Aurory then?"

"Most likely," replied William Mulciber. He and Malcolm Rowle worked together developing wizarding battle equipment sometimes, and he was fairly sure Malcolm was scheduled working days all weekend. It made it hard to meet up, to be honest, but Malcolm would soon be promoted from a Junior Auror to Auror Constable, and with all that work on his plate, William was happy that he was able to help out with the development as much as he did.

"Good." Tom said, glad that he knew the whole of where his most trusted would be.

He abruptly straightened and leveled a viscous glare at each of them in turn, "You are not to appear gleeful at the fall of Dumbledore, you are to make inroads with as many neutral and, yes, blood-traitor and muggle-related witches and wizards as possible without being horrifically obvious, so Roderick, do not even try." Roderick MacNair, who had looked aghast at the idea of ‘making inroads with blood-traitors,’ relaxed at these words. "Anyone you know in our extended circle that has dark leanings or favorably views old magics, invite to the political gathering tonight. Send out some letters while you’re out, make sure everyone knows by five.” Tom was counting out his points on his fingers as he talked, ensuring he didn’t forget anything, “Everything we had planned regarding a distant-future hostile takeover needs to be reworked, without Dumbledore our rise may now be possible not only swiftly, but practically legitimately."

Erwan and Abraxas shared a glance, before Erwan stepped forward and asked timidly, "Do you mean to step out as a noble heir, my Lord?"

Tom looked up from his counting, and nodded, "I will be going to Gringotts, and intend to be recognized as the Heir of Slytherin using their inheritance magics.” Tom knew that it would be beyond impossible to make a case for himself as a political entity who supported both dark and old magics if he appeared to be some unknown, albeit magically gifted, mudblood. With a name like Slytherin attached to his, he would be admired and respected, and his goals would be that much easier to reach. Dumbledore would have brought up the connection of Slytherin to Slytherin’s famed basilisk to the petrifications, and would have told everyone about the crazed, worthless Gaunts and the foul Wool’s Orphanage. Dumbledore would have him appear weak and would have turned his noble heritage into something to be ashamed. Dumbledore would have—

Tom shook off that notion, Dumbledore was most likely dead and was not a threat to Tom’s future any longer, it did not do to dwell on what would have gone wrong if he were. He addressed his followers again, "Be especially vigilant about how Britain intends to respond to the national security threat of Grindelwald and his army." He sneered, "I know many had their hearts set on Dumbledore scaring him away indefinitely, but we must know what, if anything at all, the ministry has in mind for national defense." It was most likely putting more Aurors on patrol or some other feeble action. As if Grindelwald would care about having to slaughter slightly more Aurors.

He stopped and turned to them, "If you can, try to arrive earlier than seven at Nott’s, we should debrief what we learn this afternoon before we talk to everyone else.” Tom then grabbed his workbag and pushed in his desk chair. The group recognized his cue that their talk was over and started to move out.

Roderick MacNair and William Mulciber headed through the shop, then out into the alley, getting lost quickly in the throng of shoppers.

Geraint started to walk out with Lestrange but waved him on as he stopped at the counter to exchange gold for the terrarium with Caractacus.

Abraxas nodded again to Tom and disaperated with a soft pop.

Tom motioned to Erwan and Orion, and they followed him to the shop front floo. 

Caractacus looked up at Tom once he finished with Geraint’s purchase, and grinned wickedly, " _Very_ interesting news, Tom. I see you and your little minions are quick in responding to it." 

"It _is_ a national security threat Caractacus. We must think and act swiftly, lest we fall to pressures from outside our nation’s borders." Tom said, and Caractacus smirked at his neutral response.

Tom ignored him and waved Erwan and Orion ahead of him through the floo, before he turned back to Caractacus and stated, "I will see you on Monday." As he spoke, he simultaneously transfigured his robes, adding tiny embellishments and making them look more expensive.

"Aye, best of luck Tom." Caractacus said, laughingly at Tom’s actions.

And with that, Tom flooed through to the ministry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought! :)  
> Probably won't be updating until next Sunday.
> 
> Originally Posted: Monday, January 21, 2019
> 
> Edited January 22. I changed Ostara to Alban Eiler. Ostara was German originally, and was written about by St. Bede, and not known if it was really a part of Celtic culture at all. I imagine my version of magic traditions in the UK to be pretty close to original Celtic pagan as possible (which they still won't be because I am an American who knows nothing) because of the seclusion of wizards and natural opposition to Christianity. So if you're neopagan, sorry. It's just gonna be a vernal equinox party, not a wheel of the year type holy day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hogsmeade Wizarding Village, Scotland**

**2:20 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

Geraint exited McBloom & McMuck and placed his fertilizer purchase inside of his invisibly extended satchel, right next to his brand new _Trichoglottis magi-atropurpurea_ , the Black Opprobrious Orchid. How such a beautiful dark magical plant from the Philippines had ended up in Borgin & Burkes in _England_ he couldn’t fathom. The flower wasn’t _poisonous_ , but there was a good reason it was inside a sealed glass terrarium—on new moon nights it was said to release psychotropic pollen spores. Geraint smiled hugely, he had never worked with one before and he was _extremely_ curious to find out what the effects were. He looked up to see several somber Hogsmeade shoppers eyeing him strangely. He scowled before he righted his expression to one of neutrality and started up the main path towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

In Hogsmeade he had observed the attitudes of those around him and decided they were simply stunned. He had apparated in and immediately noticed that the town had come to a standstill. Small groups of inhabitants and shoppers mingled together and talked quietly or listened intently to WWN broadcasts just inside shop doors. The Hog’s Head Inn appeared to be closed entirely. Inside the herbology shop, the owner had red-rimmed eyes and the shop assistant patted him on the back to console him

Geraint figured that with Dumbledore having lived in the castle much of the time and having been a Professor for as long as he had, many of these people probably knew him quite well. He didn’t fully understand. Dumbledore, to him, had seemed rather self-righteous. Like he had full knowledge of their ambitions and indulged them good-naturedly for trying to be as accomplished, as knowledgeable, or as powerful as he. He had treated Professor Beery poorly too, in Geraint’s opinion—undervaluing Herbology with subtle remarks, “Of _course_ , my boy, Herbology is quite useful for potions and medicine,” and “It is helpful when paired with other areas of expertise, why, look at how we utilize herbology in transfigurations!” Professor Beery was _too nice_ of a man, Geraint thought, to notice these comments, but Tom had been extremely critical of every move Dumbledore made from the start, and as a result, Geraint had started to listen more closely.

Truly though, people admired Dumbledore and respected his power. And it was _very_ surprising that he had lost in what must have been a duel. Dumbledore was known for his raw magical power and inventive applications of magic, as well as surprisingly quick reflexes for someone in his sixties. There must have been some trickery involved in his defeat, an overwhelming number of enemy combatants, or something similar. Anything else would have been inconceivable. Even in the face of the _darkest_ magics, and Grindelwald was said to be well-versed in some of them, Dumbledore should have held his own.

Geraint had been so consumed by his thoughts, by the time he came out of these ponderings he had walked the half-mile from Hogsmeade to the gates of Hogwarts. He glanced up at the cast-iron winged boars as he passed through the gated archway. When he had first visited Beery he was surprised by the lack of security, but it was completely normal by now. The wards were said to stop those with “ill-intent” from entering the grounds. Given how they had acted as students—how _Tom_ had acted primarily—he thought that whatever the wards were, they were a bit too lax.

He followed the path southward, turned east well before the castle and headed towards the block of seven greenhouses. The greenhouses were beautiful. They were long, arched glass buildings, made from interconnected panels shaped in the form of triangles. The fronts and backs of the buildings were semi-spherical, and the plants growing inside could be seen through the glass, a rainbow of magical flora. Geraint smiled at the sight of them, for there was no one on the grounds to look at him strangely for it.

Casting tempus, he was glad to see that he had timed the visit right. If Beery were true to form, he would be in or around his office attached to greenhouse five holding office hours at this very moment. They were always held early in the afternoon, when it would still be light enough year-round to tend plants. He opened the greenhouse door and delighted in the temperature contrast between the humid interior and the crisp dry air of Scotland in March. Removing his gloves and untying his scarf, he walked through the greenhouse, alive with OWL-level magical plants and fungi, to the mossy office door.

As he knocked on the door on the worn patch in the moss at eye-level, he heard the muffled conversation from inside come to a stop.

"Come in," came the weary voice of Professor Beery.

Geraint pushed the door open and saw his former Professor, a lanky, balding wizard,  looking exhausted and talking to Pomona Sprout. Pomona looked overwhelmed and seemed to be on the verge of tears. The blotchy redness of her face clashed horribly with her bright yellow Hufflepuff scarf.

"Geraint!" Professor Beery exclaimed, "I am surprised to see you!” Beery stopped and swallowed loudly, before continuing quietly, “Have you heard the _horrible_ news?" 

At the mention, Pomona made a pitiful sound and covered her face with her scarf. Geraint looked at her with not- _entirely_ feigned compassion as Professor Beery patted her on the shoulder in sympathy. He liked Pomona; for a fifth-year she was exceedingly competent at Herbology and had a quickness and imagination about her that made for a superb hedgewitch. And as for being a Hufflepuff, Geraint didn’t really hold with the concept of a whole house ‘being for duffers.’ Pomona was an excellent colleague, despite her youth.

Geraint turned from the crying girl to Professor Beery and said, "Yes I have, I was in town just now and heard it on the radio. I thought I ought to visit you and offer condolences for your friend and the school, Professor Beery." Professor Beery certainly looked sad, Geraint acknowledged. He must have liked Dumbledore. Geraint wondered what it must have been like having someone like that as a friend, it was probably like being friends with T—

"Why, thank you, Geraint. We are all quite at a loss about it. Albus always seemed more than human, for him to be taken from us now seems unthinkable."

They talked for a while, discussing the scant knowledge available on what had happened, and whether anyone at Hogwarts had known Dumbledore would go to the continent to face Grindelwald (they didn't), if there was any idea what would happen to the Transfiguration Professor and Deputy Headmaster positions (there wasn't), and how it boded for Hogwarts. Pomona continued to look stricken through the course of the conversation, though she started to be more involved as time went on. It seemed from Pomona that the Hufflepuff contingent was sad at the loss of Dumbledore and facing their own mortality for the first time. She said that some of the Slytherin students had seemed almost happy and looked at Geraint critically, as if expecting him to start an impromptu parade. She turned away from him, surprised, as Professor Beery turned the conversation towards the war and Britain's safety. 

"I am afraid this will lead to more battles like the one in Devon. We had before assumed that Grindelwald feared Albus, as he had held off from direct magical attacks on British soil." Professor Beery said wearily. He continued, "But now I wonder if that were ever true. I had been hearing whispers about him being heavily involved in a conflict in Eastern Europe for some time.” Beery angered suddenly, “Of course, we hear so little, _The Prophet_ would have you think we are in some golden era of peace!"

Geraint nodded. The Prophet, as much as he could be bothered to pay attention to it, seemed to have been caught up in a furious cycle of reporting on _very important_ things like “The life and times of the Dance Band Sensation and Wizarding Dreamboat: John Greenhalgh!” and “Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor: How Many Flavors is Too Many?” and “Undersecretary Greengrass: Political Bombshell Enjoys Weekend in Cardiff with Mysterious Stranger?” Nary a word about a war on the continent or the ICWs continuous pressure on the Ministry of Magic to get involved in a more coordinated defense effort. The WWN was much more open with these details, but one had to be listening at the right time to know about them. Students only cared about radio Quidditch and John Greenhalgh’s crooning, they weren’t going to stay on a channel talking about the intricacies of a foreign war.

Geraint told Pomona as much, and she looked affronted before she realized that she too, had never stayed on a WWN broadcast that wasn’t popular music.

"I don't think I know what magical defenses we have in Britain, I have never thought about it." Pomona said, curiously, “Surely there are wards and such here and in Diagon Alley and Kings Cross?”

Geraint shook his head, frustrated, while Professor Beery looked nervous. Geraint took it upon himself to educate Pomona: "We used to have a great many magical defenses specifically to shield us from magical warfare, but they were far more localized than the concept of national defense, and almost all of them are eroding. Hogwarts is an exception, but even her wards are not built for the kind of war someone like Grindelwald could wage. Diagon Alley is warded from Muggle eyes, but it is only _Aurors,_ and wards on individual buildings, stopping attacks that would occur from magical sources." 

Pomona looked stricken before her expression morphed to one of confusion. "Wait… We used to have some type of defenses? You just said that. What happened?"

"He's talking about the old magical fortifications." Beery was nodding to himself thoughtfully, then looked up at them both, "The wards of Hogwarts and the castle grounds are powered by the magic we cast and are strengthened by renewal rituals from the staff. You knew this?"

Pomona looked like she was struggling to remember excruciatingly boring details of _Hogwarts: A History_ , but nodded hesitantly.

"Well those fortifications weren't so unique when the castle was founded. Many wizarding communities had such protections, and they were powered by the magic festivals and offerings. When the old ways were simply the way that magical folk lived, the festivals occurred throughout the year. They followed the cycle if the seasons and the planets, giving strength to the magic of the land."

Geraint cut in, "It wasn't always so obvious as wards like here at Hogwarts," he said looking at Professor Beery, who looked excited now despite the somber day. “These wards were first cast by powerful, well educated enchanters. But small wizarding communities or covens would use their specific brand of magics to create defenses.”

"At that time, hedgewizards like us were quite prominent!" Beery said enthused. Pomona looked up at that, her brow furrowed and eyes gleaming with intense curiosity. 

The professor smiled at her softly and continued, "The best mages would come together to create the fortifications and the people in the community would aid them. The spiritual leaders would conduct the ceremonial rites and… and sacrifices,” Beery hesitated at this thought before pushing forward, “The herders and the farmers would offer materials for the leaders to use for the rites like bones, wool, seeds, fruit, the animals themselves. The herbalists would offer potent protective ingredients or potions, the hedgewizards would grow brambles and poisonous plants, protective groves of trees, and walls made from living wood. Those that could commune with creatures and fae would make bargains. Transfigured barriers, charmed fortifications, even elemental magic like persistent winds or a rerouted stream. Everyone added a little something uniquely themselves.” Beery looked wistful at this idea.

Geraint saw that the professor was lost in his ponderings and told Pomona directly, “The villages were small though, and most wizards and witches were apprenticed, not trained like here at Hogwarts, so their magic was less powerful. Even working together, all those villagers would only be able to build up protections just for their village, usually not much of the surrounding farmland or forest.”

Pomona looked awed, before asking intelligently, “What were they protecting against?”

Geraint grinned, “All manner of foul things! Roving Muggle bandits, Giants, Trolls, centaur herds who had been driven from their forests, Dragons!” Geraint had stood up at some point and had begun wielding an imaginary sword at pretend beasties. Pomona giggled and Professor Beery hid a smile. Geraint flushed and sat down.

“It sounds _wonderful_!” Pomona sighed happily.

Geraint sighed, “It is not really possible now though.”

“What! Why?” Pomona shouted, affronted.

“Magic like that depended on the seasonal changes, the participation of creatures, the spiritual leaders, the offerings and sacrifices. Hardly anyone around knows the rites nowadays, they are vitally important to the defenses. And what’s more, many, _many_ wizards and witches view this type of old magic as _dark_.”

Pomona looked stricken, “Is it?” she ventured, “is it dark?”

Geraint looked at her and saw that she wasn’t wholly turned off at the idea of dark magic when it was wrapped up in such a chivalrous fairy tale. He decided to be honest. “It _can_ be. The Ministry definitions of dark are pretty strict about blood sacrifice, and that’s a powerful component. But more importantly, the defenses are designed to protect, but also to retaliate. And with it being so individualized, it’s really difficult to split them up into what’s so offensive that it’s dark versus not, so for them, all old village magic like that has negative connotations.” Geraint looked sad, but perked up, “But they really don’t enforce it _too much_ for things like manor warding. When it’s old private property like that, they don’t get too involved.”

Professor Beery nodded and was about to continue before he hesitated and looked at Geraint shrewdly, “If I remember your NEWT year thesis, you have done extensive research in defensive and offensive manor hedgewizardry.”

Geraint nodded happily, “It is my _greatest passion_. Father has let me test my offensive hedgemagic on the whole of Rose Estate.”

"That interest may become quite useful here now, Geraint. When we met earlier today about the news, the professors were talking about Hogwarts defenses without Albus. I think I’d like to bring up hedgemagic defenses, if you would be willing to lend your expertise to the project."

Geraint looked flabbergasted for a moment, before recovering, "Ah, yes sir! Of course!" Geraint looked thoughtfully before he addressed Beery, “You know we are not the only ones who do defenses, the Longbottom estate has done, for example. My father talks to Harfang Longbottom," he glanced at Pomona, "Richard's father," and turned back to Beery, "about it on occasion. They get into it about it when the mood strikes."

Pomona looked very excited now and looked between them, "If you do such a thing at Hogwarts, I want to help," she demanded.

Professor Beery smiled at her indulgently and nodded, "I wouldn’t dream of keeping you away, Pomona." He looked quite determined now, and glanced at Geraint, "I think I will have to write a proper proposal for the Board of Governors and send some owls. Did either of you need anything further? I'd best get started on this." 

Geraint glanced at Pomona, then said to Beery, "No, I need to be off if I want to finish my errands." He turned and ushered Pomona out the mossy office door, "Shall we?"  
  
\---  
**Diagon Alley, London, England**

**2:10 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

William Mulciber walked tall through Diagon Alley, cutting a path through the crowd with broad shoulders. He walked slowly to pick up bits of conversation as he passed and, being nearly a head taller than all those around him, heard a great deal.

"-dead I think, if he were alive they-"

"-e are royally fucked now, ain't we? Nuffink stopp-"

"-can't believe it, he was _young_ yet, for a wiz-"

"-allied forces 'ave Jerry by the bollocks, but fuck if I know what that means for our magical situa-"

William took note of that remark—he had forgotten about the muggle war, though he would _never_ mention that to Tom. Tom got a bit manic whenever people disregarded the muggle war and had forced them out into Muggle London last summer to see what powers the muggles had. It had been a traumatic experience, and the skeletal remains of the city had been horrific. Tom told them that there had been thousands of bombs, and close to twenty-five thousand casualties. William closed his eyes as he thought about it. That was almost _five times_ the number of wizards in _all_ of Great Britain and Ireland.

That experience had been odd for the group of purebloods and blood-purists. Where formally they had shared an age-old comradery in boasting about muggle hunting and baiting, after the trip a heavy blanket of solemnity draped upon them. They switched from their boasts and plans for raid tactics to discussing how to implement severe isolationist policy. These positions varied from the complete and utter extermination of mudbloods to a very detailed and strict set of policies for the Muggle Liaison Office and Department of Magical Catastrophes.

Roderick had been miserable with this new direction. Muggle hunting was something his family prized as a sort of tradition. William was just happy that they never had to go back to Muggle London.

While dedicated to his pondering, he had travelled through the alley and found himself at the outfitters. William pushed the door open to the shop with a gold painted window sign that read: "Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment."

Inside, he navigated through spinning globes, clockwork solar systems, scales, binoculars, astrolabes, and maps to the small portion of the store dedicated to battle equipment. Here was where he and his siblings sold their wand holsters, potion bandoliers, enchanted blades, and security amulets. The stock was low even though he, his sister Jane, and his brother Robert, had fulfilled a large order for Wiseacre's a month prior.

The shop was empty, and no attendant was at the counter, so he rang the bell and shouted through starry curtains towards the backroom, "Alec? It’s William! You in?" 

William heard a bang and a clatter, the whistle of steam, and a muffled oath, before Alec Wise came through the heavy drapes as smoke billowed out behind him.

Alec Wise was a short, middle-aged eccentric, thoroughly devoted to astronomy and navigation, and always fascinated by the most up-to-date tools and gadgets. The shop closed every January so he and his brother Jonah could sail the southern hemisphere by a different set of stars.

"William!" He blinked up at Mulciber through trifocal lenses, "It is wonderful to see you dear boy! You will not believe what I have gotten ahold of! Steam-powered muggle engines! I want to enchant them, I have a feeling I can fit it onto our boat, and we can zip around New Zealand quick as a whip next winter.” Alec smiled brightly at this thought before blinking and adjusting his focus onto William.

William looked at him speculatively, "If you need buckles and fittings for your ship, we can make whatever you design for it, Alec."

Alec looked pleased at this, nodding exaggeratedly before he suddenly sank into himself, "Have you heard the news then?" 

Mulciber nodded, and Alec hurried to vent his distress, "People have been in a right state all morning! Coming in and in a frenzy buying all of your survival and battle equipment. Why I think I've sold 12 of those security amulets you make just _today_! People are so worried! And the _peace of mind_ that comes with knowing they can call for help—how did you set them up to contact the Aurory? I don't know if I ever asked and having sold so many I was trying to figure out how it could be possible."

"Malcolm Rowle is an Auror, a friend of mine. He got the logistics figured out on that end. _Apparently,_ the Auror department has similar charms for people they deem in danger. It was simple enough to utilize the system they already implement." William left out the details on how Malcolm had bribed several people and pulled a few favors, before he received accolades for his endeavors in "public safety" on top of his share in the profit.

William continued hurriedly before Alec could switch topics, "People are worried then? I noticed the low stock, and I-"

"Oh my word, yes!" Alec interrupted, "People are scared _witless_. You know I am very invested in the warding on this shop and the other Wise properties, they're practically military grade! The way people are acting they've never put thought into personal defense before, it boggles the mind!" Alec looked well and truly boggled, as a veritable jack of all trades and master of many, the former Ravenclaw couldn’t comprehend a person who wasn’t proactive about the dangers that life presented.

Mulciber nodded in agreement. People were complacent thinking that the Auror department would be fit to handle all danger, that had actually been a pillar of Tom’s future plans. Mulciber shook himself out of _that_ inappropriate thought and asked Alec, "Do you want to place another order then? If they have sold that much in just the few hours…"

"Absolutely William, I will certainly do that. Another full order I would think. If I raise the prices a smidge, I'll compensate you extra for the rush, of course." Alec winked at him.

William smiled cheekily, "Of course, Alec." He straightened, "Right then, stay safe. I'll send you an invoice tomorrow." 

William wound his way back out into the alley, before he cast _tempus_. he had two hours until his meeting with MacNair and he still had to owl his siblings and Malcolm, make his way to Bowman E. Wright's Smithy and Fledermaus Tannery for material orders, gather their opinions on the defeat of Dumbledore, and eavesdrop some more in the alley for Tom. He figured he would have enough time for everything.  
  
\---  
**Wizengamont Council Courtroom, Level 10, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

**2:10 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

Elaios Malfoy was seated at the tiny bench dedicated to the Malfoy hereditary seat within the Wizengamont chambers, and looked slightly red in the face and exasperated by the parade of foolishness occurring around him. Even as session was in recess, the Wizengamont members were so disturbed that they were having _very loud_ arguments amongst each other, speculating on what had happened to Dumbledore, and otherwise being obtrusive. Several people were crying, a small group of the Dark contingent was grouped together looking gleeful and sending him conspicuous looks. He huffed. It was all too much.

As Elaios was making these observations, he noticed Abraxas enter the chamber doors, and start making his way up the steps towards him through the turmoil. 

Abraxas avoided several near-accidents gracefully, he noted as he watched his son traverse the council chambers with poise. Abraxas was tall and slender, taking after his mother Dwynwen Malfoy neé Rosier. Little Eilonwy and baby Nimune seemed to be similar in that regard, and all of them were quite fair—they looked very well all together in the portrait that had been painted this past Yule. Elaios himself was tall as well, but he had considerable bulk compared to his son, wife, and daughters. As such, he was incredibly grateful for a reason to get up from the miniscule council bench to greet his son.

"Good to see you Abraxas! You wouldn't believe how tiresome it is being _stuck_ here as nothing at all gets resolved. Do you want anything? I was just about to order some tea."

Abraxas nodded and said, "Tea would be wonderful father, thank you." As Elaios summoned an elf to order the tea service, Abraxas went on, "I've been in through the atrium and saw Undersecretary Greengrass talking to some Minister’s office employee. I overheard her saying that hardly anyone knows what even happened to Dumbledore, have you heard the same?"

"Yes, though it _ought_ not be the case. Hopefully the ICW has information to communicate with the minister, because I don't know how we are going to move forward here without something more to go on with this matter," he looked around disparagingly at his fellow Wizengamont members who had seemed to only increase in volume. He leaned in towards Abraxas and said quietly, "They thought Albus so indestructible, and now they’ve lost their heads. We can't even pass emergency war resolutions in the wake of this and Dover!” Abraxas looked at him surprised. Elaios continued, “You know the Aurory cannot handle this whole business. The department of magical law enforcement is not a the same as a war department, we need to increase their budget or pass emergency measures, but it is impossible to get anything done in this-"

"Order! Order! Return to your benches! Session recess is now over," the Chief Wicca announced utilizing a _sonorus_ to cut through all of the discussions in the chamber. Wizengamont members looked startled, and at least one toppled backwards off a bench.

"Ah, maybe we will get something done now, Chief Wicca Kettleburn looks like she's about _had it_ ," Elaios remarked gleefully as he took a cup of tea from a Malfoy house elf. Abraxas took a cup as well and shook his head, amazed at the display by his father. As a former Slytherin he had been expected to appear reserved and cold, but Elaios had found early in his apprenticeship with _his_ father that was far easier to make money when people trusted you than when they found you standoffish and pompous. It was his natural demeanor to be cheerful, and it may have been a change in face for the Malfoys, but it had reflected in increased yearly investment gains.

For Abraxas, a stately grace seemed to be the key to good business and fortune, and Elaios had told Abraxas to do whatever he felt he could commit to—the worst thing to do would be to change attitudes abruptly with long-term associates.

Abraxas turned back to the front of the room and saw that Chief Wicca Kettleburn was now engaged in a hushed conversation with a frazzled looking Minister Spencer-Moon. They were surrounded by a silencing bubble, but they were sure to be talking about Dumbledore. The momentary quiet from her earlier announcement had remained as the councilmembers watched this discussion intently.

Abraxas continued to look around the chambers, and noticed Edward Nott, sitting at his bench. Edward had a medium build, straight brown hair, blue eyes, and a thin face. He had not yet noticed Abraxas as he was too distracted by trying to discretely overhear the group of dark wizards behind him.

When the Chief Wicca again called the Wizengamont to order sometime later, she announced, "The ICW has confirmed a battle with Gellert Grindelwald occurred in Cologne, Germany that resulted in…" she paused, taking a deep breath, "the _death_ of International Confederation of Wizards envoy Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore this morning at 8:30 AM."

She looked up, stricken, and registered the devastated expressions on much of the Wizengamont. She waited for their subsequent clamor to die down a bit naturally and Abraxas took the opportunity to look around to catalogue the responses of the councilmembers. Selwyn looked gleeful, he had obvious Grindelwald connections, as did a few other families. Abraxas looked around and only saw Councilman Carrow noticing that, he too, could not keep his emotions to himself. Continuing his observations, he saw that Pollux Black looked torn between excited and nauseated, he was having a challenging time adjusting as the Wizengamont representative for the Black family, he had only been appointed the position the year before after Cygnus I died, and the hereditary seat came with a great many responsibilities. Apparently, Pollux did not yet know _how_ to feel. Abraxas quickly looked again for Edward Nott among the gathered and with relief saw him to be as stoic as ever.

Edward Nott was sitting with his father, surprisingly. Dacre Nott, very old and in poor health, hardly ever left Devon for anything, and as a result, Edward had been sitting on the Wizengamont seat as a voting member ever since his 17th birthday. Edward caught his eye and nodded his head in acknowledgement, Abraxas nodded back before he turned back to the crowd.

Tom had implied that he thought there would be a foothold for them, provided there were those who wanted to move forward and figure out how to best defend Britain, so Abraxas now looked for those with something akin to steely determination in their countenance, and he found it in several places. Harfang Longbottom was one, Caspar Crouch another. That was good, Orion could work the Black connection on that front. He was surprised by the resolve in Henry Potter's eyes; Charlus, his youngest son, had been in Abraxas' year, and had always seemed to be the same sort of flighty light wizard as the Diggles and Doges and Weasleys, though that may have been a front to hide his relationship with Dorea Black.

He tallied the rest, Old Seraphina Bones, Ariel Goldstein, Patrick Hopkins, Abioye Shacklebolt, and Irenaeus Lovegood all looked at least somewhat determined, and Herbert Burke, Biagio Zabini, the ancient Electra Bullstrode, and Catriona Moody all had stoic, expressionless faces. If Tom wanted to avoid Grindlewald zealots, Carrow, Selwyn, and unfortunately Roderick’s father, Ruairi MacNair made up the entirety of the "no-subtlety-at-all" list. Abraxas cursed internally as he saw this and tried to catch Edward's eyes again. He subtly gestured at Ruairi to Edward and shook his head. Edward looked confused until Abraxas mouthed "Tom" at which point Edward paled and his eyes widened before he glanced at his own father, the relief on his face was evident when he saw his father looking shrewdly out at the Chief Wicca.

"At this point-" the Chief Wicca began before she paused and doubled her _sonorus_ , "At this point I move to establish an emergency session tomorrow, at nine o'clock, to focus solely on the wartime resolutions Minister Spencer-Moon and the Wizengamont committees would like us to put forth concerning the emergency situation with our nation’s defense. A _confidential_ dossier on these matters will be owled out tonight. Expect to vote on these matters tomorrow, we shall not be delayed _again_! Dismissed!"

Abraxas turned towards his father and placed his teacup down for the elf to retrieve before he asked, "Do you want me to walk out with you? I do need to have a quick word with Edward about a dinner meeting tonight."

"You go on ahead, I will be fine. You will be at breakfast tomorrow though, son. I should like to go over this dossier with you," Elaios advised Abraxas. “I’d like for us to be in agreement about our vote between us and your mother.”

Abraxas flushed slightly, pleased with his father’s request for his input, "Of course father, I shall see you for certain tomorrow morning at seven, I am not sure how late tonight will be."

Abraxas bowed slightly to his father before he swiftly navigated his way towards Edward, avoiding eye contact with Selwyn and Carrow, who were drawing a lot of attention for their gleeful attitude.

When Abraxas reached Edward, he alerted him about the meeting, “He was hoping the Nott Estate would be suitable. He wants to host an informal gathering after our meeting,” Abraxas lowered his voice, “To make it be known he shows no sympathies towards Grindelwald and his goals.”

Edward’s eyes widened at the thought before he glanced at his father quickly. Dacre was speaking to Electra Bullstrode while they waited for the room to empty, "That shall be fine,” He told Abraxas quietly, “Nobody will be in the manor house, and I have enough time to prepare for the gathering.”

Abraxas looked at him quizzically after the remark on the house being empty. “Father has recently decided to move to the cottage on the north end of the estate—he finds the solarium and quiet to be more beneficial to his health." Edward shook his head and quipped, "Though there’s no-one but me about most days with Hilary at Hogwarts, so I have no idea what’s so loud that he needs the _escape_."  
Edward wore a soft smile as he said this.

"Perhaps you snore Edward, and it keeps him up at night," Abraxas teased, trying to mask a grin.

Edward laughed softly, "Ah of course, that must be it." He turned and looked at Abraxas and lilted, “Will be a common request, given the shifting winds?"

Abraxas observed the thinning crowd, making sure none were close enough to hear their conversation. "I would imagine so. Tom bid us do reconnaissance in the wake of this news, and it seemed he has intentions towards _political_ maneuvering," Abraxas said this with emphasis, knowing that Edward was well aware of their Lord’s plans for a swift and violent _coup d'état_ , given the roadblock that had been Dumbledore.

Edward looked pleased, "I shan't be too relieved, in case he changes his mind again, but I much prefer this direction. Others won't be too happy…” He sighed, exasperated, “MacNair is always trying to start a fight."

"MacNair can fight in a war, I should imagine. If he wants to fight so badly," Abraxas remarked, looking around at the now empty council chambers. "Somebody will have to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you like, what you hate, how you're doing, etc.
> 
> Trying to veer away from repeating anything I've read from other authors, but if something seems too derivative, please let me know.  
> Forewarning: I haven't and most likely will never watch any of the Fantastic Beasts movies or read Cursed Child, but I will try to keep with canon as I know it besides those sources. If those sources are considered canon. I'm not sure. I may steamroll over stuff that's true in those fics because my Grindelwald will be based just off of HP info.
> 
> I hope the names of the characters aren't too outlandish, I wanted to establish some sense of family identity for them based on JKRs decisions and remarks, and I've made a lot of my own decisions on who is from where in the UK and elsewhere.
> 
> The population density stuff from an article I found that estimated between 4000-6000 wizards in the UK in 1990 based off of Hogwarts class size and average family size. Assuming there's no other wizarding school in the UK, which is true I think. JKR said at one point "one in every ten" people is a wizard, but with a population in the UK of 46 million in 1945, that's an absurd proportion. This number is more like 0.01%
> 
> And the thing in Muggle London William references is the 1944 V-1 rocket attacks that decimated the south London area.
> 
> Originally Posted: January 29th, 2019


	3. Chapter 3

**Daily Prophet Press Office, Profession Alley, London, England**

**2:10 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

  
The Daily Prophet Press Office was a monstrous beast of a building beyond the far end of Diagon Alley; an entire wing of the building had nooks for owls to roost, with chutes that would bring the freshly printed papers to the owls. Rastaban speculated that there were probably two thousand newspaper owls, at least. He had seen the inside of the wing—the printing presses and paper cutters were housed in the middle, with big pyramid shaped skylights above. The rolled-up papers went on a conveyor, then each chute got a roll, and each owl made a delivery. It was a loud, noisy process, but it was very efficient. He made his way into the front of the building and could hear the drone of a thousand owls hooting softly all at once coming from around the side. He could also _smell_ the odor of owl pellets and owl droppings mingled with the scent of fresh newsprint.

He nodded at the front desk clerk, Gladys Umbridge, a very stout, stern looking woman in a heavy mauve woolen cardigan, and made his way towards the floor of the newsroom. Entering the room filled with large tables sectioned into individual work areas, he greeted familiar reporters as he made his way towards his sister's work station in the politics desk. Mojdeh Lestrange had a space like all the others, a section of table and several felted panels opposite her seat that could be _reducio-_ ed or _engorgio-_ ed at will. These panels had photos and notes stuck to the felted walls, some with strings connecting them, some with red marks of her desk editor. On the wall behind her chair at the table was a collection of her printed works, organized in a collage. Most of her writing was human interest stories about new policy changes, and she was constantly complaining about how she started projects hoping for feel-good pieces to come out, only to uncover what terrible people politicians are, or do background research only to reveal horrifying reasons as to _why_ new policy had to be created. She had a reputation for reporting people's dark secrets with an incredible amount of tact, which made her articles stand out a little, especially compared to the salacious tabloid exposés by Richard Skeeter or Gaye Diggory’s sappy puff pieces.

Mojdeh scowled as she looked up from her WBM Magomatic Model 04 typewriter as he knocked on the edge of her table, "Wha-! Oh, Rastaban, hello!" Her irritation dissipated slightly as she looked back at her typewriter and said, "I thought you were Skeeter back again to _waste my time_." She hissed, "that arsehole."

"Mojdeh! Language! What would 'umi say?" Rastaban said, laughing.

"She'd probably tell me to kick his arse with how much he hovers around trying to steal my beat." She looked up at him then, and inquired, "What are you doing here? I'd have thought you and your little friends would be throwing a death-day party."

Rastaban gasped and looked mock-affronted, " _Us_? Be so irreverent? We would _never_!"

She quirked a brow at him, "I'm sure. What are you doing then?” She gasped, “Are you here looking for a _job_? It would be about time for it, you lazy sod." Her eyes twinkled with laughter.

"Maybe I am," he huffed, "Father only has need of me part time, and working here could be useful for my future."

She looked at him critically now, "Useful for managing the _Lestrange_ estate? I don't see how. Or do you mean useful to your _Tom Riddle_?"

"For Tom, _obviously_. And myself. I'm rather reluctant to become a recalcitrant homebody like father," he said, paling at the idea. "My future career as a stringer for the ‘DP’ is a discussion for tomorrow though perhaps.” He leaned in towards her and breathed quietly, “I was wondering what you know about this Dumbledore issue."

She preened for just a moment before quickly recovering and cast a strong privacy ward around them both. At his quizzical look she said, "I don't want any of these vultures stealing my scoop! You'll keep this _just_ to your Tom and friends, yes? I think there's a veritable treasure trove here waiting to be uncovered."

He nodded, eager, and gestured for her to continue.

"Well, Albus has a brother you know," she looked up at Rastaban, who shook his head in the negative.

 "Well he does. Aberforth Dumbledore, 62" she said as she flipped through her notes, "Barman and owner of the Hog's Head Inn in Hogsmeade."

She straightened up and looked at Rastaban, "We went to get his statement, me and Dick Skeeter and the photog. Skeeter was asking about that nonsense with the goats a few years back," she rolled her eyes and continued, "and Aberforth kicked him out, so he only got a few comments about Albus, mostly that Aberforth and Albus didn’t get on.” Rastaban looked surprised at this news and was about to interject but Mojdeh went on: “But Aberforth said to me, and I quote,” she cleared her throat, “'Going to face that towheaded _whoreson_ was Albus' responsibility after his massive cock-up. My brother was a pompous arse and we didn't get on, but I'm proud of him for finally standing up to Grindelwald after all that bastard did to our family, even though the _stupid sod_ bloody went and got himself killed.'" 

She looked up determinately at Rastaban, "There's _history_ there between Dumbledore and Grindelwald, and nobody seems to know about it. We don't know much about Grindelwald either, and if this war escalates, somebody's going to need to dig that past up." She snapped her notebook closed, "And I intend to do it." She grinned at him cheekily, "And if you join the paper, you can be my subordinate and help me!"

Rastaban ignored her tone as he thought about the information. "I think you’re right about the story. I will think about the job though, and talk it over with Father on Sunday.”

"Have you heard anything about this battle?" He asked her as he stood up, he had gotten a shoulder cramp from leaning so heavily on her desk.

"No, the ICW is keeping it close to the vest. I think the Wizengamont will hear it first, after Minister Spencer-Moon of course," she said, irritated. She looked up at him from her seat, "Send me an owl if you find out through your little group, yeah?"

He nodded at her and smiled his goodbye as he left the desk. He wound his way slowly through the tables, listening as he went to bits of talk from the reporters and the one-sided floo-calls at the assignment desk. From the sound of it, there was no official action yet towards preparing for the war that was sure to come, only widespread panic.  
  
\---  
**Shadowy Corner, Diagon Alley, London, England**

**4:10 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

  
"Feckless mudbloods." Roderick MacNair spat quietly as he stood, _dissolusioned_ in the shadowed mouth of a small side-alley off Diagon.

He had been eavesdropping with a variety of sleuthing spells on tenacious, critical grannies and groups of despairing housewives and sniveling grown men for the last _two hours_ and had grown angry with the lot of then. Well, not the old biddies, they had been _bloody_ foul-mouthed and foul-tempered, despairing at the 'poor blighter’ and 'brash young Dumbledore' among other, more commonplace things, like their creaking bones and the ill-kempt state of the alley.

Roderick had found that out of everyone, the mudbloods were the most determined to talk about the war and defense, moving quickly beyond their grief into resolve. It was the half-bloods and blood-traitors who viewed Dumbledore's defeat as their own personal tribulation and were endlessly bemoaning how in disbelief they were and how shocked they felt.

This distinction in favor of the mudbloods Roderick found odd but had wrote it down in his notebook as worthwhile to tell Tom. 

Roderick loved reconnaissance work, _almost_ as much as he loved a good fight. His father's brother, Ualan MacNair, was an Inspector in the Aurory, and had worked as a private eye for fifteen years before rejoining the force. Roderick had informally apprenticed under Ualan during summers between years at Hogwarts and had learned a great deal about detective work and how to remain inconspicuous while collecting information. Ualan also spent time teaching Roderick how to duel properly, which was especially useful because his father Ruairi was a curse-happy bastard.

He leaned back into the shadows of the alley and quickly flipped through his notes before he cancelled the dissolution and made his way towards The Leakey Cauldron, feeling restless now that he was mixing with the rabble. Listening to them was one thing, but brushing elbows was quite another. He peered around as he entered, and spied William Mulciber at a shadowed table in the back. Before he made his way over, he stopped at the bar and ordered a snifter of Dragon Barrel Brandy. He deserved the good stuff after listening to all he had about the beloved Albus Dumbledore.

William Mulciber was nursing a pint of Dragon Scale Ale, and asked Roderick as he sat down, "How was your investigation, Roderick?"

" _Everyone_ is running around like headless chickens," he sneered, then added, "except for the old women and mudbloods that is. The old women I can understand, they’ve been around a bloody long time, but I don't get why the _mudbloods_ are so resolute," he drank his brandy after finishing that thought, perplexed.

"It's because the muggle war has been going on for _years_. They're desensitized to it, and probably thinking more practically than wizards. You remember when Tom forced us out to see Muggle London? I think it’s something they're used to." William swirled his ale before continuing, "Muggles have war more frequently than we do anyway, it's part of their culture, drives their industry. The last one was only _30 years ago_. They expand and colonize while we try to remain insular.” William gestured in earnest, “Our only recent magical conflicts occurred on other continents! We have no recent history worrying about a magical invasion from wizards on continental Europe, at least not since 1815."

He looked up, and Roderick could tell he was troubled. "I assume you're thinking about how unprepared we are, Will," Roderick said, before continuing, "We… _I_ spent too long being zealous about Grindelwald. Dark wizards aren’t going to see him as a threat."

William knew that Roderick was feeling embarrassed for idolizing the Dark Lord. When he was younger he would spout all the time about, "my father!" And "the Dark Lord is a genius!" And other such nonsense before Dolohov lost it, shouted, " _Zabijję cię_!" and beat the ever-loving shite out of him. Dolohov left him bleeding on the ground and said, " _Pierdol się, skurwysynu. Trzymaj się swojego fiuta_."

Tom had summarized after the fact, glaring above him. "Roderick, I think he wants you to _shut up_ about things you don't understand." And had then stepped over him while directing Orion and William: "Take him to Healer Cadwaladr, she can fix him up from his _nasty fall_."

After that, Roderick MacNair hadn't espoused Grindelwald's 'greater good' again, though they all knew his father Ruairi was a fanatic.

Tom had grand plans for Britain, _none of which_ involved a partnership with an Austrian Dark Lord. So there you go.

"Your father is going to be in trouble if the ministry mobilizes against an invasion from Grindelwald, he's too outspoken. They'll suspect him of treason," William said emphatically.

Roderick looked dejected, "You think I don't realize that? Uncle Ualan is always on his case about it, it causes him trouble in the Aurory, and will be even worse now.” He swirled his drink as he looked down at the table. “He's prouder of being a Dark Lord supporter than he is of being British," he finished morosely.

Roderick looked up after a sip of brandy, “What'd you learn today then? I saw you making rounds to shops in the alley. Did you see Tom going to Gringotts with Erwan?"

William scrutinized him, “You’ve gotten way better, I didn’t even notice you.” Roderick preened.

"No I must have been in a shop when they passed though.” William took a gulp of his ale. “Anyway, people are scared. I went to check our stock at Wiseacre's, and everything's practically sold out. We need to do a rush job, I spent a lot of time setting up orders for it today." He looked contemplatively at his beer, "I'm going to ask Tom what he thinks, but I want to start prototyping new products, start thinking about offensive equipment a bit more. Maybe work with the folks who make the Auror equipment. Tattings handle that, I think.” William rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, “It's gonna be a lot of work, plus whatever Tom wants us to do on top of it."

He looked exhausted just thinking about it. Roderick interjected, "Don't worry about that yet, Will. We'll see what he's got planned yet tonight."

Will agreed, and they continued drinking in silence.  
  
\---  
**Atrium, Level 8, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

**2:10 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

Erwan glanced around the Atrium as he spelled his robes clean of soot from the floo. The room’s ceiling was very far above the ground, and the upper floor windows could be seen as they faced out into the atrium chamber. The Ministry weathermages must had been in a good mood early this morning, because the atmospheric charms were set to partly sunny skies with small fluffy white clouds. Behind him, Orion whooshed through the floo in swirl of green light and a puff of ash. Erwan expected that Tom would arrive without any soot on him at all and—yes. Immaculate.

In the few moments it had been since Erwan left Borgin and Burke's, Tom had transfigured his robes to fit him tighter and accentuate his shoulders and waist with additional embroidered details on the cuffs and lapels. He looked quite the picture of a perfect pureblood lord, and Erwan took the chance to imagine how _magnificent_ Tom would be as a Dark Lord in his own right.

Tom quirked an eyebrow at his far-off expression, and Erwan leant in and whispered breathlessly, “You look _radiant_ my Lord.”

Tom wrinkled his nose at him and made a show of righting his hair. “I am way out of your league _Avery_. You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

Orion had turned bright red at their repartee and interjected hastily, “Erwan! Undersecretary Greengrass is by the fountain!”

Erwan turned to look and spied the _breathtaking_ figure of Cyrene Greengrass in the midst of a conversation with what appeared to be an ICW delegate from the golden robes and pretensions hat. “It is good for the both of us then, my lord, that my tastes are geared towards a more _delicate_ beauty.” He said without looking back at them, missing Orion pink, yet again, and Tom’s narrowed eyes.

“I shall see what she knows about this news them?” Erwan said as he turned back and locked eyes with Tom.

“ _Do_ try not to make the papers with your rendezvous.”

Ewan smirked and wiggled his fingers in goodbye.

Cyrene was truly lovely. She had porcelain skin and long blonde hair that she wore in big curls and deep sapphire eyes. She came up to Erwan’s chin, even in her pointed boots, and was wickedly intelligent. Her conversation seemed to end just as Erwan arrived, "-'s headed down towards the Wizengamont now, you should try to catch him and tell him this yourself. Level 10."

She was pinching the bridge of her nose tightly when Erwan spoke, "You look like you are long overdue for a spot of tea."

She looked up, startled, then exclaimed, "Erwan! You scared me!” She grabbed his arm to steady herself and proceeded to squeeze it gently. She met his hazel eyes and smiled. “Today has been so hectic, but I would be willing to take a break if a _handsome_ young man would care to accompany me."

“Ah, you’re in luck. I am very handsome, and just so happen to desire the arm of the most beautiful Ministry official—”

She smacked his arm playfully and caught his eye again, “Erwan!” She laughed. “Come. Sit with me here in the tea room.”

\---  
**Atrium, Level 8, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

**2:15 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

  
Orion watched as Erwan made his way over to Undersecretary Greengrass. “She has a son the same age as Abraxas…”

“And you’re in love with your own cousin,” came the reply. Orion swirled around, his entire face and neck a brilliant scarlet.

“She is my _second_ cousin _!_ It _hardly_ counts!” Orion squawked.

“I’m just saying that you’re not in the best position to remark on—”

“ _I get it._ Gosh, Tom.” Walburga Black was the most intelligent, winsome creature to ever walk the earth and Orion did not care to hear anyone else’s opinion on his romantic affairs.

Tom took pity on him in his ruffled state and patted him on the shoulder. Orion looked up at him. "You will make your rounds to the family? If you see anyone who you know practices the old ways-"

"Oh, I'll tell them about the meeting tonight, don't worry. Lucretia will be ever so excited, she has told me she is quite looking forward to the spring equinox festival."

Orion looked resolutely forward for a moment, then back at Tom. He stood up straight and said loftily, "I'm glad we're moving in this direction Tom, I know how good it will be for _you_ if we succeed, but I think it will be very good for _Magic_." 

He scarpered towards the lifts before Tom could respond.

  
\---  
**Minister’s Office, Level 1, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

**2:19 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

  
Emmeline Spencer was _really_ hating her job today. Throughout Hogwarts she had dreamed of working with the upper crust of wizarding society as a wedding and event planner. She had volunteered during Hogwarts to plan various holidays and events, and in her 7th year she had organized the entirety of the Yule Ball. It had been _wonderful_. 

She had intended to spread her wings after graduation and work freelance so that she could rent a small shopfront in Vocation Alley. She had organized and helped throw several classmates' graduation parties, but then cousin Leo's old assistant Charlotte Milliphutt had retired, and Emmeline's father had put his foot down about her experience and capability as a potential entrepreneur. And so, Emmeline became the personal assistant to Leonard Spencer-Moon, Minister of Magic, who was her uncle-by-marriage, and therefore did not require her to plan any weddings whatsoever.

The job was well within her skillset, but she loathed it anyway. Every day was stodgy old men, somber war news, and muggle things she didn’t understand. And _now_! Dumbledore _dead_ , cousin Leo _scrambling_ to respond to public panic, and _Emmeline_ was to organize the whole of it.

"Level One, Minister of Magic's Office, Senior Permanent Undersecretary to the Minister’s Offices, Minister’s Cabinet Offices, Level One Conference Room," Emmeline looked up to the sound of the lifts opening and blushed at the _princely_ figure of former Slytherin prefect, Tom Riddle. 

"Tom Riddle! What a pleasant surprise!" She exclaimed. She fretfully hoped that her hair was pinned properly, and that there was nothing stuck in her teeth.

Tom was two years her junior and had _always_ been one of the cutest boys at Hogwarts. He was so smart that Slughorn had him tutoring her during _her NEWTS_ and was altogether perfect...except for the fact that he never had seemed romantically attached to anyone at all. 

"Hello Emmeline.” His voice was attractive too, deep and resonant, she had forgotten. "I take it you've been having a stressful day given the news?" He looked at her sympathetically and she sighed, "Stressful day _indeed_. Everyone is in a commotion, I've rearranged Leo's schedule twice today!" She gestured towards a plum colored leather book on the desk. She kept careful records of the Minister's appointments, and was very pleased with her system, but it irked her that Leo kept _changing his plans_.

"You're so incredibly organized Emmaline,” Tom said, startling her out of her melancholy, “I'm _certain_ that you have it more well in hand than you think.” He grinned at her and his perfectly straight, brilliantly white smile sent her reeling.  “I remember the elegance of one particular _Yule Ball_ , I think you were the mastermind behind that splendor?”

Emmaline looked away at that, red in the face as she tried to regain her composure. As a result, she completely missed the silent cast and characteristic figure eight of _gemino_ , the duplication charm. Tom neatly slid a second plum book into his robe pocket right before she looked back towards him.

"That is _incredibly_ sweet, Tom Riddle." Emmaline said as she smiled appreciatively, "But enough about _me_ , surely you are here for some business or other?" 

Tom’s eyes gleamed and his expression became more solemn, "I was wondering if I could make an appointment with Minister Spencer-Moon. Me and my associates have been working on defensive warding and charms, and I wanted to extend our services to the Ministry in the wake of today's events." He looked down at the datebook, "It would only take a half hour, but I believe our techniques could help wizarding Britain."

Emmeline nodded as she wrote in the datebook. "I have you down for Wednesday morning at eleven.” She glanced at him, “Does that work for you? That's the soonest that's open."

Tom looked her straight in the eyes as he leaned in and patted her hand. She felt breathless, like he was seeing her soul laid bare-

"That's perfect Emmeline, thank you _very_ much."

The moment broke, and she blinked before waving at him as he entered the lift.

Emmeline sighed as she put her chin on her palm and stared out towards the lifts. She brightened slightly, today hadn’t turned out as bad as she had thought.  
  
\---  
**Department of Magical Games and Sports, Level 7, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

**2:17 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

Orion had intended to remain indignant regarding Tom’s _unwarranted remarks_ , but he was shocked out of them by the sight inside of the lift. Two owls were riding on the bronze handle in the back of the lift, letters tied to their talons. They looked at him accusatorially as an alarm chimed, and he quickly moved out of the way of the closing doors, backing into a corner _far from them_. Flying in the air were interdepartmental memos folded into birds and flying carpets, and on the ground a tiny origami cat had caught and starte _d eati_ ng a folded paper crane. On the floor were several small scrolls tied with satin ribbons and sealed with wax that would have seemed inconspicuous if they weren’t rolling around over each other like a litter of puppies. Orion stared around the compartment openmouthed.

"Level seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports," the lift announced as the grate pulled open.  
Orion quickly exited the scene, looking back as the doors closed just to make sure he hadn’t been dreaming. He then made his way towards his sister Lucretia's office. He was distracted from the _strangeness_ that he had seen by the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters and by an unfortunate hit on the temple by a golden snitch. The main room was loud, and the many cubicles that filled it were each covered entirely in promotional pennants and posters and other decorations. There were several ongoing arguments between employees about various players and match-ups, and at least 5 teams worth of charmed miniature players enjoying pick-up games around the office. Somebody had even shrunk bludgers, quaffles, and snitches for them to use.

Lucretia was the head of Quidditch Promotion for the League. She organized the WWN broadcasts for matches, helped set up interviews for high-profile players on air, and coordinated with each of the team's publicists. As a result, she had her own office separate from all the bustle. She had her head in her floo when Orion walked in, so he waited patiently and rubbed his forehead to soothe it.

"-on't know, Cedrella. I will have to patch you up to Mister Tufts, but from over here there's no talk of cancelling the matches, I can tell you that... Yes okay, hold-... _Hold on_! You silly goose!" Lucretia tossed in a pinch of floo powder then stated: "Magical Games and Sports, Mister Tufts office!" She waited for an answer, "...Portkey Office for you Mr. Tufts. My first cousin once removed is on the line, they're all _sorts_ of worried sir-... Certainly!" She slashed her wand at the grate, and with a whoosh the call ended.

She stood up and waved her wand to straighten her ankle length skirt and sweater before she jumped when she saw Orion smiling sheepishly at the door. "How long have you been standing there?” Orion smiled wider. “Wherever did you learn such bad manners Orion, sneakily listening in at doors!"

Orion grinned hugely and swept into the room to grasp her hands in his. "From you, _dear_ sister! You taught me very well how to listen, but it seems you neglected to teach me how not to get caught!" He pouted at that and let go of her hands before he collapsed into the wooden chair in front of her desk.

"That was Cedrella? I haven't seen her in ages! How is she, do you know?" Orion said, genuinely interested. Cedrella did not make as many family dinners as her sisters Callidora and Charis, often working long shifts in the portkey office.

"She's fine at work, making portkeys is a nice outlet for her magical power I think," Lucretia paused before beginning again more quietly, "but I fear she is about to enter into a most unwise engagement with Septimus Weasley, of all people!” Orion was not wholly shocked: Cedrella’s father Arcturus Black II often remarked on the ill-breeding of the Weasley’s and their blood-traitorous ways. Usually the blood traitor families were cycled through on a regular schedule in terms of who was most deplorable at the moment, but for some months there had been much to discuss about William Weasley, his silly bint of a wife, and his five out-of-control sons. Septimus Weasley had been the oldest of those sons, in the same year as Cedrella at Hogwarts, and now worked on the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.

“She will be disowned!" Lucretia lamented, and Orion looked at her agast. "Surely not!” Lucretia gaped at him, “Why would she give up the old ways just for marrying a Weasley! She could persuade him out of his silly ideals, then all would be well!" Orion said confidently and Lucretia fretted with her hands.

"I do not think the Weasleys would so easily be swayed, “ she said mournfully.

She leaned in closer to Orion. “I have heard a few things already so far today about further restrictions on _undesirable_ magics.” Orion huffed, indignantly. “And I do not think it will get _easier_ for those of us with dark family magic.”

Orion looked perplexed, then sighed. "Tom has called a meeting today, at Nott estate in Devon. It’s at seven.”

Lucretia stared at him unconvinced. “Orion, I don’t really think it _wise_ to have a political rally the very day of the death of the opposition.”

Orion cut her off quickly. “He is going to try to make a push for the old ways in the pursuit of national defense. I know he can pull off whatever he has planned, you know his magic, there’s nothing he wouldn’t be able to accomplish." Surely Lucretia knew. Orion had brought her to several pureblood dueling tournaments over the years—clandestine competitions for dark wizards to display their skills—and Tom had come out on top of the 16-25 age bracket for the last three competitions. He had ranked within the top ten for the last two years, competing against heads of families all over Great Britain and Ireland. He never lost when it came to speed or raw power, but there were old, obscure magics that Tom, young, orphaned half-blood, just did not have the resources to combat.

Lucretia seemed to be considering this. Although it was true that Tom had the brutal intelligence and decisive manner desirable in a leader, he was very young, and even though he was widely respected by all those who had known him in Hogwarts, to much of the older contingent he was hardly better than any old muggleborn. “I do _believe_ that your Tom Riddle could accomplish whatever he sets his mind to. And if he is determined to bring the old ways back, I would support him…”

Orion perked up at this remark, but Lucretia cut him off, “But he will have to be cleverer to truly sway Light wizards, so _I_ shall help you." Orion leaned away from her as she gestured widely. She placed a hand on her chest and pronounced: "I am going to ask Cedrella to the meeting. We shall use her Weasley as a testing ground to see if we can _turn_ blood-traitors.”

Orion was pleased, he was always pleased when events were flooded with Black family members. Lucretia continued, “She approved of Tom at our Beltane fire, I remember her remarking on the complexity of his ritual.” Tom had devoured books on old magic and forbidden magics ever since his first trip to Diagon Alley, and once their friend group had been established, there was no stopping him from posting Lord Sirius Black and requesting the humble privilege of borrowing tomes from the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. As a result, Tom Riddle, at the age of 19, was a proficient and dedicated practitioner of Celtic ritual magic. He had performed the sacred rites the previous Beltane, at sundown on April 30th, and the two bonfires had raged and danced merrily for hours into the night. Those within the family skilled in pyromancy had been beyond pleased with him. Orion was hoping that the equinox celebration would be equally magnificent, despite it not being one of the four major Gaelic seasonal festivals.

“I’ll just write her a quick note and send it through the floo.” Lucretia grabbed a quill and a long rectangle of parchment. “And I’ll have to send one to my dear Ignatius…”

Orion grinned. "Yes of course, bring your Ignatius," he said teasingly as he watched her fold her notes up into fat triangles and flick them into the fire. “What on earth was that?”

Lucretia looked confused for a moment before she looked down at her desk and saw her paper strips. “Oh! Last month the Wizengamont officially voted to stop using owls as the exclusive means for interdepartmental memos. But they had no backup method ready to take their place! So, it has been a sort of competition between the offices to see who has the best ideas for memos. It’s gotten a bit out of hand…”

He lost a bit of his cheeriness at that. "Is that why the lift was so… maddening?”

Lucretia smirked evilly, “Yes indeed. And I imagine you will be running around visiting family on all the floors. Think of all the horrors you shall face.”

Orion frowned deeply. “You’re right of course. It will certainly be a trial, but I am strong, and the heir to _The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black_ ™. I will not be swayed by foul demons in the lift! I choose to take the stairs!”

Lucretia laughed uproariously at that and grabbed her desk for stability.

Orion continued primly, “You wouldn't happen to have any Black family gossip I can use as a cover, would you?"

Lucretia seemed to recover and wiped tears out from her eyes before exclaiming, "Dorea may be pregnant with an ickle baby Potter! I heard mother talking through the floo, I assume to Irma, about it yesterday evening. It seems harmless enough gossip if you find you need an excuse.” Orion looked at her starry-eyed as she spoke about Dorea, and silently mouthed: 'a baby!'

“Although, you can always just say you were in the ministry to see me and made the rounds after. It is not so hard to believe you would want to see your lovely big sister in her marvelous Quidditch Headquarters!" She gestured around at her large, comfortable office as she said this.

He smiled at her posturing and stood to make his way to the door. "Of course, Lucretia, your magnificence surely warrants a trip all on its own.” Lucretia pretended to curtsey while seated. “I shouldn't want to steal an announcement away from Dorea if it were to be true! Imagine!" Lucretia laughed at his sentimentality and waved him through the door.

Orion bowed out and made his way to the stairs, almost walking through a game of miniature quidditch, dodging only when the tiny players shouted at him with impressive rudeness. He silently prepared his route: Level 6 to confirm with Cedrella, Level 5 to see Caspar Crouch, Level 4 to talk to Charis (and a _sk about creature specific warding_ that he could implement into his second year thesis), Level 3 to see Aunt Lycoris and Ignatius Prewett if they weren't both out on assignment, and Level 2 to see Uncle Regulus and Cousin Pollux. And at the end, Level 9 to see if could catch Cassiopeia as she left the Department of Mysteries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought, any confusion you had, anything you especially liked, do you have a favorite character, any criticisms about the character portrayals etc.
> 
> Polish phrases.  
> "Zabijję cię!" : I am going to kill you  
> "Pierdol się, skurwysynu. Trzymaj się swojego fiuta." : Fuck you motherfucker, mind your own fucking business (literally, hold on to your own dick)  
> I think anyway. Correct me if I've got them wrong, I'm a Polish language learner, very far from fluent.
> 
> Originally Published: Saturday, February 2nd (BELATED HAPPY IMBOLC <3, happy groundhog day to my fellow north americans) (Edited, Feb 27th, I called Arcturus Black, Abraxas Black D:< )  
> Next Chapter, Saturday February 9th: Tom finally goes to Gringotts, everyone regroups, and the political action party starts. Maybe we'll see the end of this first day, maybe not.


	4. Chapter 4

**Atrium, Level 8, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

**2:35 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

Tom exited the lifts to find Erwan Avery talking to a cheerful looking old witch in plum Wizengamont robes. "Tom!" Erwan waved him over and gestured to the witch with an exuberant smile. 

He clapped Tom on the shoulder. "This is my dear friend Tom Riddle" Tom sent her his most charming smile and took note of the inquisitive nature of her glance. This look was common and was typically accompanied by snide derision, though this witch was perfectly pleasant. People simply did not know how to reconcile his aristocratic features, pleasant manners, and his filthy muggle surname. 

Erwan gestured towards the witch, "This is Wizengamont Chair of the Natural and Magical Resources Committee, Wilhelmina Tufts!" Tom shook her hand in greeting. "She works very closely with my mother's department." Erwan looked quite smug. His mother, Maëlle Avery, was the head of the Magical Woods, Forest, Land and Works Department within the ministry. She was a fierce witch with a lot of political power who also loved her family and Erwan thought the world of her. Tom _refused_ to be jealous.

Erwan turned back to Tufts and leaned in conspiratorially, "Tom is a fervent researcher of traditional magics!" Erwan winked at him cheekily, so Tom cut in to prevent him from saying anything moronic, "I enjoy learning about how magicals are connected to the land, and about the beneficial cycles that keep balance between the light and the dark." 

Tufts brightened considerably at this. "A fellow magi-naturalist I see! There are far too few of us these days," She shook her head, sadly, "It seems like we hardly even recognize the magic in the land and creatures as worthwhile areas of research!" She grinned at them both cheerily. "Erwan, I am very proud of you!" She pinched his cheek in a doting fashion, "So young, but such depth of understanding amongst you and your close friends!" Erwan withstood the treatment with aplomb and showed no trace of the displeasure Tom was sure he must be feeling.

"We do try to be as knowledgeable as possible Madame Tufts, magic is a _great_ gift, it wouldn't do to squander it." Tom said seriously. 

Wilhelmina teared up, "That's beautiful Tom, truly." Tom smiled at her, graciously.

Erwan offered her a handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes. She seemed to pull herself together before casting _tempus_. "Oh dear," she sighed and sent them an apologetic look. "I'm afraid I need to head to a subcommittee meeting. Erwan," she turned to him and clasped a hand fondly, "I will see you and your family this week for dinner. Tom, it was lovely to meet you." She smiled at them both and headed towards the lift.

Tom quickly refocused on Erwan as she hurried away. "Lovely woman." He said blandly. "Are you done here? I need to visit Gringotts." Gringotts Bank was the only place to get letters patent created, the blood magic for it was considered dark and illegal when done by wizards, but goblin magic was unregulated, even though the goblins themselves faced other forms discrimination within Britain. Tom sighed and gazed at the arched atrium ceiling through the clouds, it was not something he had considered before, but if he wanted to rule wizarding Britain and raise up dark magic to its proper place of distinction, the support of the goblins would be vital. How to get that support was yet to be determined.  
  
"Of course, Tom. I shall fill you in on what I have found out." Erwan fixed his blonde hair and sent Tom a saucy wink, "I _believe_ I now know a fair deal more than you."  
  
Tom cast a weak, wandless stinging hex and abruptly walked off. Erwan hurried to catch up behind him after a moment. "I'm flooing through to The Leakey Cauldron, you can follow me or not."  
  
-  
  
Tom and Erwan navigated through the crowd as Erwan reported. "Dumbledore coordinated with the ICW to plan the confrontation, he did not go in alone." Tom cocked an eyebrow and evaded a harried looking witch dragging two small children on leads behind her. He scowled after her. "A platoon of ICW battle-wizards were part of the operation, and only about half of them survived, many of whom were wounded. They didn't accurately plan their retreat, it seems they were overconfident of Dumbledore." 

" _Idiots."_ Tom hissed.

Erwan nodded. "Most of the confrontation is still a secret, Cyrene didn't know, but Madame Tufts said it appeared as if Dumbledore was not confirmed dead and may have just been wounded or unconscious, but his body showed up hours later. Something happened to Dumbledore that only Grindelwald would know." Erwan frowned in distaste. 

Tom stopped in front of the Quidditch supply shop and turned to look at him, surprised, "You got all of that from your lover and one of your mother's friends?" 

Erwan looked affronted and continued towards the bank pompously. "Oy! Cyrene Greengrass is a pillar of society! And my mother is a very respectable witch." He lifted his nose high into the air causing his dark blonde hair to fall away from his face. "Her friend just happens to be a high-ranking Wizengamont official who finds me charming and adorable!" Erwan bowed mockingly, looking smug. Tom glared.

Erwan ignored the look and frowned minutely. "Unfortunately, I didn't get anything on the ministry's intended response to Grindelwald or the national security threat." They continued walking together.

Tom nodded, "I imagine there's very little determined at this point anyway." He fished the plum colored leather datebook out of his pocket and handed it to Erwan, "Emmeline Spencer has set up a meeting for me with the Minister, Wednesday at 11. You will be there, and we will need to have a workable plan for applying our research to national defense by then. Small scale, to help prevent another Dover, with possibilities to increase the range." He nodded at the book then, and said, "That's the Minister's agenda, it ought to be organized very logically if I know Emmeline. See who you know that has influence over Spencer-Moon, and whatever else you can get from it, then hand it off to Edward and Abraxas. I want it back after the party tonight." Tom looked at him seriously and then nodded at the guard goblins as they made their way up the steps at Gringotts. "I shall see you at the Nott Estate at six," Tom said as he pushed open the door.

"Yes, Tom," Erwan bowed quickly, before he briskly made his way back down the bank steps already leafing through the stolen agenda.  
  
-

**Senior Vice President Ragnok’s Office, Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley, London, England**

**2:50 pm, Friday, March 9, 1945**

  
Tom looked around Ragnok's office. There were several ancient looking axes mounted on the walls with rust (or was that dried blood?) on them, but Tom paid them no mind. What was always disconcerting, and _far_ more distracting, within Gringotts was how all the tables, chairs, and cabinets looked as if some mighty Colossus had pressed everything down towards the ground. All the furniture and the doors and windows were squat. The width was standard, but the short legs on his chair and doorframe made Tom, in his six-foot four-inch frame, feel uncharacteristically awkward. Refusing to show his discomfort, Tom arranged his long limbs in a picture of elegance upon the stout chair and clenched his teeth as he fought valiantly to not be bothered by the feeling of _wrongness_ emanating from the strange space and its haphazard array of papers and knick-knacks.   
  
Ragnok did not look up from his papers as he came in, slamming the door behind him. Tom did not flinch. He looked over the goblin. Ragnok was elegantly dressed in a black suit with gold pinstripes. He could see the hilt of an ornate gold dagger at his waist, and the chain of a timepiece out of his vest pocket. All the goblins had pale greyish skin, Ragnok's was peachier than the workers at the bank, he saw more sunlight due to his prominent position and mandatory dealings with the Goblin Liaison Office.

The goblin sat behind his desk and put down his papers, and finally acknowledged Tom. "Good afternoon Mister Riddle, what business brings you to Gringotts?"

"Good afternoon, Vice President Ragnok." Tom greeted, before stating, "I need official letters patent to prove my claim to my title as Heir of the Slytherin line. I intend to file them at the ministry to authenticate my writ of magic and take my rightful hereditary seat on the Wizengamont."

Ragnok nodded and made an odd gesture with his long fingers, forming a steeple between them. His eyes closed and after a beat he opened them to look at Tom with a bloodthirsty grin. Tom looked at him blandly, far too used to odd dealings with _violent_ undertones to be intimidated by the smile of a goblin. He pulled out a wicked looking black dagger then proceeded to summon a large ornate piece of vellum with gold leaf borders.  
Tom raised an eyebrow—this was a new experience. He had come to the bank after his fifth year at Hogwarts once he had proof, by way of commanding Slytherin's basilisk to petrify the _unworthy_ , that he was the heir of the noble Hogwarts founder. At that point, there was nothing of value for him at Gringotts, the magic of the inheritance papers recognized him as a minor, and reported his direct lineage dutifully for several generations, but provided no information on titles or deeds or galleons. Tom had vowed to abandon all hope of any type of physical inheritance from anyone, his magic would stand for itself, his power would be a more fit herald than any lofty names or titles. But those were the childish notions of a rebellious sixteen-year-old. Tom now had a tremendous opportunity with the fall of Dumbledore, and he was going to use every advantage available. 

The papers three years ago had been simpler, and a blood quill had been given to him instead of a dagger. He looked up from the decorative implements accusatorially. 

Ragnok made a grimace that could have been a smirk. "Ah, when you were here last, magic was still considering your worth. But today, she has decided to show you favor." Tom looked at him, incredulous. Ragnok scoffed. "You think we offer all wizards the same services?" Tom had never really thought about it. "Wizards who spit on us as servants and categorize us as baseless creatures?" Ragnok snarled and Tom felt a sliver of fear travel down his spine. 

"You are choosing to help me above other wizards. Why?"

Ragnok flashed a row of pointed white teeth, "Magic has chosen. She thinks you worthy. She strives towards balance." He flipped the dagger in the air, catching it on the blade, offering the hilt to Tom. "Let us some blood then."

Tom thought about the cryptic mystical nature of all this but decided to go with his instincts and quickly cut a shallow gash into his palm. He squeezed his hand shut and dripped blood onto the vellum. Ragnok looked delighted.  
  
Slowly, the blood bloomed across the page as if mixing with a thin layer of water, before it settled and dried instantly into a formal looking document.

At the top center was his full name, and at left was a tree of direct descension in very close print.  
Tom quickly scanned the names and dates.  
Mother: Merope Riddle neé Gaunt (1907-1926) 

Maternal Grandparents:  
Marvolo Gaunt (1878-1930)  
Maia Gaunt neé Bulstrode (1885-1910)  
  
Maternal Great-Grandparents:  
Glaucus Gaunt (1856-1900)  
Mestra Gaunt neé Fawley (1858-1909)  
Atlas Bulstrode (1865-1934)  
Pleione Bulstrode neé Gaunt (1863-1897)  
  
"It seemed _en vogue_ to be named for the Greeks," Tom said to himself quietly. "And I ought not to fault Orion for the cousins _thing_ any longer." How distasteful.  
  
Maternal Great-Great Grandparents:  
Dionysus Gaunt (1839-1879)  
Adrienne Gaunt neé Selwyn (1842-1856)  
Jacob Fawley (1820-1905)  
Francis Fawley neé Selwyn (1822-1869)  
Iapetus Bulstrode (1836-1899}  
Claudia Bulstrode neé Flint (1836-1923)  
Ares Gaunt (1835-1897)  
Doria Gaunt neé Shafiq (1836-1897)  
  
And so on it went, Gaunts mixing with other notable pureblood lines, names that had long since died out and some that were surprising. Tom saw 'Peverell' and glanced down at his old stone ring. He read on until finally he saw:  
Salazar Slytherin (957-1121)  
  
Tom's dark blue eyes gleamed in vindication. He was a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin. In front of him was the proof of his noble ancestry.

The feeling of malicious joy soured as he looked again and saw:  
Father: Thomas Riddle II (1906-1942)  
Paternal Grandparents:   
Thomas Riddle I (1880-1942)  
Mary Riddle neé Fairfax (1883-1942)  
The magic didn't bother with continuing beyond that for the muggles, as if it could taste his dissatisfaction.  
Tom wrinkled his nose at the page, but read on.  
  
Below the tree was information that could have been bloody useful when he was an orphan trapped in a muggle war zone.  
Closest Living Relatives:  
Morfin Gaunt, uncle (incarcerated) (1904-)  
Electra Bulstrode, great-aunt (1887-)  
Germaine Selwyn, grandnephew of great-grandmother (1895-)  
Armand Flint, great-grandnephew of great-grandmother (1905-)  
Rosamund Shafiq, grandniece of great-grandmother (1893-)  
John Fairfax, great-uncle, muggle.  
  
He was surprised by the section on living relatives, that had not been there before. He looked sharply at Ragnok, "Why was this part omitted when I first took the test?"

Ragnok's black eyes narrowed to read where he was pointing, he then directed Tom's attention to the bottom right half of the paper, "You were not of age, and not yet the head of any family" He tapped twice on the line that said: Inheritance

Below that read—  
Tom Marvolo Riddle  
Blood status: half-blood  
Head of the Ancient House of Gaunt   
Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Slytherin   
Member of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Peverell  
Member of the Noble Houses of Bulstrode, Fawley, Selwyn, and Shafiq  
Head of the House of Riddle (muggle)  
  
Ragnok hummed cheerfully. "If magic approves, you could become Head of the House of Slytherin." Ragnok looked at him sharply, grinning as Tom's breath caught at his words. "It's a simple test, but even as the head of two houses we will have to go over your investment portfolio. I hope you have the time...?"

Tom snapped out of his daze, and said angrily "How am I the heir to the Riddle estate? They would not have left me anything. They were _loathsome muggles_ who feared what they did not understand."

Ragnok looked at him approvingly, "So you met them, then? Must have been right before they died, how _tragic_." He sneered, "I think you'll find the magic of goblins more powerful than the whims of muggles. There is nobody else in line, and we can create the muggle documentation easily enough." He waved a hand flippantly and Tom moved back, wary of his menacing manicure, "It's a non-issue."

Tom took a deep breath and composed himself. "I should very much like to be Lord Slytherin. How do we go about the test?" He looked at Ragnok, considering, "The Gaunts did not hold the title, as far as I know, there must be…” He waved his hand around, thinking, “Stipulations?" 

As he asked his questions, Ragnok had stood and gone over to a short filing cabinet, from which he pulled out a leather-bound folder. Inside were more papers than could have fit without magic, as well as an ancient looking ebony box. 

Ragnok set the box in front of Tom and began to read from a paper from the folder: "Dôð foremearcung of frêadrihten Slytherin canne âwihte bêon settan uppe dôð êðelstæf ðone as fêran wægn dierne mægenðrymm wislic eafoð orgilde cynd ûtâðýdan m¯æl ðæge pro."

Tom glared at Ragnok. Ragnok patted him on the hand, stabbing him gently with his pointed nails, and summarized, "None of the Gaunts who've tried in the past few centuries have been magically powerful enough or _'strong of character_.'"

Tom smiled wickedly as he picked up the box. Turning it over in his hands, studying the fine grain of the wood and delicate silver snake inlays. He then opened it and said, "I think I may have _slightly_ more luck."  
  
\---  
  
**Nott Estate, Bradworthy, Torridge, Devon, England**

 **Friday, March 9th, 1945, 5:55 p.m.**  
  
"-ou know Malcolm, my Uncle Regulus spoke very highly of you today," said Orion, silver eyes shining pleasantly.

Malcolm Rowle looked astonished, "Oh yes? What did he have to say? I hardly ever work with him, you know, it's mostly the Inspectors and Auror Sergeants who deal with magi-forensics." 

Malcolm Rowle, Orion Black, and Abraxas Malfoy were standing in a medium-sized parlor room in Nott Estate. The room had a large fireplace, and seats had been organized in a circle, with one seat in front of the fire quite obviously the focal point, as all the chairs were angled towards it. As Malcolm and Orion were speaking, Edward Nott lead in Rastaban Lestrange, Geraint Rosier, William Mulciber, and Roderick MacNair.

Orion smiled, "I told him how we are friends," Malcolm smiled, dimples standing out against his brown skin, "and he told me that you're one of the few Auror Trainees who doesn't habitually _contaminate_ crime scenes! Apparently its quite a tricky thing to train?"

Malcolm huffed, but his eyes twinkled, "Those arseholes can't focus on anything, every five minutes they summon something they've forgotten or vanish a soiled handkerchief. Captain Savage almost _killed_ Trainee Abbott yesterday for using an over-powered tidy spell on his trousers, it wiped away some footprints at the scene and she started in on hi-," Malcolm cut off as Abraxas elbowed him in the stomach. Malcolm glared but the blonde aristocrat was looking at the door.

Tom had arrived. He was closely followed by Erwan Avery and Antonin Dolohov and as he moved towards the front of the room, his ten most trusted fell into place in the circle around him.

Tom sat himself gracefully into the chair by the fire and waited as his followers hurried into their seats.  
"Albus Dumbledore is dead!" He began abruptly and smiled as his followers cheered quietly. "Without Dumbledore, the Light and the blood-traitors have no obvious figurehead." The cheers were louder.

  
Tom cut off their celebrating, "But all is not well. As you probably learned today, Britain is by no means prepared magically or mentally for a war against Grindelwald." His followers were nodding, "Based on the scrambling in response to the attack at Dover and the news of Dumbledore's defeat, I believe the Ministry is _weak_ , and we are _truly_ at risk from a foreign power." 

Antonin growled at this remark, and Tom sent him a sharp nod of acknowledgement.

"This shall not happen. We may all be _dark wizards_ ," Tom now gestured at his followers, rings on each hand glinting in the firelight and drawing the attention of Abraxas and Orion, who shared a look of puzzlement. "But we not going to kneel at the feet of some Austrian who's _claiming_ to be a Dark Lord." Tom's voice was full of malice, and his agitated magic could be felt by those in the parlor. "And we certainly shall not be destroying the Statute of Secrecy." Tom scoffed. "The very idea is ludicrous. You have seen the effects of the muggle war on English soil," his followers nodded, pale. Roderick looked queasy. "Imagine that power against a population as small as ours. Even _with_ magic we would be forced to _hide_ like _rats_." He snarled.

Tom looked at them each in turn, "So the decision is easily made," Tom said, sitting back in his chair, relaxing and projecting an aura of confidence, "We cannot let the Ministry fall to Grindelwald, and we must defend our noble shores." He leaned forward again, an off-putting smile on his face, "And with the paragon of light magic dead, we shall do both using our own innate talents and magics to revolutionize the ministry from the inside."

Orion looked about to faint from happiness, and Antonin was what could only be described as bloodthirsty. The rest looked at Tom in varying degrees of awe, except for Geraint, who looked out the window.

Tom shifted the topic abruptly. "I should like to hear reports on what you saw and heard today, so that we may identify political targets and opportunities."

They went around the room, and Tom set a quill to record notes in a black leather book as they went. Erwan started them off with what he had learned about the ICW coordinated attack with Dumbledore. Rastaban followed, telling them about the interview his sister Mojdeh had conducted with Aberforth Dumbledore, about how Dumbledore had some, yet unknown, previous ties with Gellert Grindelwald. Dolohov brusquely described the emergency family meeting he had attended, and said to Tom, "You vill know, ven I hear from naszych...connections v Polsce," implying that his family's contacts within the ICW and the Magiczny Rząd Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej na uchodźstwie were likely to come up with more details on the battle and subsequent death of Dumbledore.

Rowle and Orion jointly discussed the tension within the ministry, especially how the Auror Office seemed very nervous about their role as a potential military defense force and were whispering about conscription. They were also concerned about the more vocal animosity towards dark wizardry. "Usually, there's only a few Aurors who see in black and white about dark magic and villainy, but that wasn't the case today," Rowle said, discomfited. “The Auror force is _scared_.” 

Orion told Tom about his conversation with his sister Lucretia and how he was hopeful they might be able to sway public opinions and practices of old magic. He explained the motivation behind the trial run with the blood traitor betrothed of his about-to-be-disowned cousin. Tom rolled his eyes internally at that thought, Orion was absurdly sentimental, but he could not fault his commitment.

Orion tried to go on about his many, many, relatives at the Ministry, but when forced to summarize said, "Most of them are quietly pleased about the Dumbledore business, but I would say that they are far more worried about, as you say, the _Austrian contingent_."

Abraxas and Edward shared in a conversation about the Wizengamont meeting, and the plans for the emergency meeting the next day. Tom was extremely interested, and Edward told him that as soon as the dossier arrived that night, they should go over it together. Abraxas made note of all the parties he felt were good allies, great allies, potential adversaries, and those, with a pitying glance at Roderick MacNair, who seemed too vociferous in their glee at the death of Dumbledore or in the success of Grindelwald.

Tom asked what had been heard in the alley today, and William Mulciber quickly spoke of the rush for personal defensive equipment, and the potential future interest in developing and selling new products. He and Roderick spoke of the general anxiety and fear that the wizarding public demonstrated, and Roderick told Tom of "the interesting attitudes of the Mudbloods."

When they had finished, Tom waited and then asked coolly, "Geraint?"

Geraint looked at him from the window, "Much the same in Hogsmeade My Lord. Hogwarts itself is in mourning. But my meeting with Professor Beery was, I think, especially useful?" Geraint finished hesitantly, continuing when Tom urged him on, exasperated. "We were telling Pomona about how hedgewizardry was used in village protections," he said, excited. Tom nodded, it was a component of their plans for creating strongholds using old magic, Geraint loved to talk about it. "Professor Beery is going to write up a proposal, he wants us to add hedgemagic defenses to the castle grounds. I surmised he thinks Hogwarts will be a _prime target_ for Grindelwald. He is going to owl my father and Harfang Longbottom and we will, I imagine, create something similar to the defenses at the Rose Garden Estate. Something passive, powered like the castle wards are though magical expenditure within the grounds." Geraint rambled excitedly, thrilled to be put to work growing violent vegetation, "I thought you would like to be involved, Tom. It is related to your work recreating the magical reciprocity systems of ancient wizarding villages."

Tom nodded and glanced at Erwan, "Yes, I would Geraint, thank you. That brings me to a new point. I have a meeting set up with Minister Moon about that exact topic and expanding it to help prevent another attack like on Dover." He looked at each of them. "I want us to be fully prepared for this meeting, and an opportunity to practice the defensive magic on completely virgin manor has revealed itself." He made an open gesture with his hands, as if giving a gift. "We will meet Sunday to finalize plans for a warding ritual." Orion made a happy chirp at the mention of warding and Tom glared at him. "And on Tuesday under the new moon we will cast. You will all be there." He glanced at Orion, "Walburga too, both days." His followers nodded. This concept had been well-researched, as it was a fortification they had been planning to use for Tom's eventual overthrow of the Ministry. It was a dramatic shift in perspective to be saving the population of wizarding Britain as opposed to planning a war against it.

Tom turned to Malcolm, "Would you be able to research the strategies behind the attack on the magicals in Dover? It would help us ensure the success of our fortifications."

Malcolm nodded, "I should be, there is no confidentiality stipulations attached to those reports as far as I know."

"Excellent," Tom said as he sat back into his chair. He laced his fingers together, once again drawing attention to the rings there. 

The group had long since grown used to the 'Peverell Coat of Arms' ring Tom wore on the middle finger of his left hand. Tom had stolen the ring from his uncle before framing him for three murders, though not all of them knew those delightful details. The new ring on his right hand was much more refined and elegant, made of highly polished silver. It was rather large, as well, and in the center, carved in relief, was the Slytherin house crest. Abraxas, who was closest and could see the ring most clearly, dropped his mouth open in surprise, "My Lord! Is that?" He gestured lamely at Tom's hand.

Tom gave them a wide smile of true pleasure and said while showing his hand, "The Slytherin house crest. To be worn by a direct decedent of Salazar Slytherin, and to designate said wearer as _Lord Slytherin_." 

Those around him ranged from puzzled (MacNair whispered, "We already knew you were descended from Salazar Slytherin?"), to knowing (Erwan had suspected as he left Tom at the bank), to giddy (Orion had squeaked when he saw it). 

Tom turned to Edward and Abraxas, "I think I shall be joining you tomorrow morning at the Wizengamont, I have papers to file with the Ministry but afterwards I would like to observe. At the first meeting after the papers are processed, I shall be sworn into my hereditary seat." Tom looked quite smug, and then pulled out a small sheet of paper, handing it to MacNair. "I did an inheritance test at Gringotts, here listed are the deceased," he pointed to the list on the left side of the paper, then the right, "and living relatives that I apparently have. I need reports on them, focus on the living first. Predict how receptive they and their close family would be to say, a sudden new half-blood Lord Slytherin in their family. I need to know if any of them will be problematic." MacNair nodded and put the sheet of paper in an interior pocket of his brown leather notebook.

Tom then turned to Edward, "Would you show me what you have set up for guests? I want to prepare for the gathering."

He turned towards the rest of the group, "I will be speaking about the direction we are going to take concerning the revitalization of old magic, framing it for defense against Grindelwald. Then I will invite everyone to Alban Eilier, our upcoming spring equinox celebration." His followers looked cheered at that. Seasonal festivals with Tom at the helm were wonderful to behold. "After that, we will talk amongst the guests. Remember: no overt celebration. Think of tonight as a political brainstorming session, I want people to be coming up to us with suggestions as to how they can further the cause."

\--

**Friday, March 9th, 1945, 6:45 p.m.**

Jimmy doesn't like making fish pate, he says it smells up the kitchen and I quite agree! You can have salmon caviar instead, it is delicious."

"You have too much leniency with that elf, Edward. You should not let your servants take advantage of you so."

"I will treat my elf however I please! Jimmy practically raised me, you have no right..."

Tom was sitting in a squashy upholstered wooden chair, making notes in a black leather notebook balanced on his knee, while Erwan and Edward bickered about the hors d'oeuvres. He had changed into a sharp charcoal suit and navy tie with a black fitted linen robe. Tom was quite pleased with his quick ensemble, the dark colors brought out his fair complexion and deep blue eyes. He lifted his quill from the page and coughed to get the attention of the two young men.

"-I am paying for the food anyway so-"

Edward cut himself off at Tom's interjection, his blue eyes widening. "Yes Tom?" 

Erwan looked relieved for the beratement to end and looked at Tom attentively.

Tom glared at them both, causing Erwan to avert his eyes and Edward to flush. "I will begin by thanking them for coming, thanking Edward for his hospitality," Edward blushed even deeper, "and going further to say 'how lucky we are to be together and join our minds and magic to work with one another' and that 'sadly, the British Wizarding population lost a well-respected pillar of society today, and we must recognize that loss.'" 

Tom looked at the notebook, "I believe that's adequate phrasing..."

Erwan rolled his eyes, "You are able to be honest with that, it's all facts and you're not expressing any emotions whatsoever. It allows you to neatly avoid seeming insincere."

"I think in the part before that you could say something about how, historically, wizards and witches have worked together, sharing their magic to defend their communities. That is a key point for us, making it a part of the opening remark so early will help unite our message." Edward added, considering. "At least, I _think_ so."

"No, that's perfect Edward thank you." Tom took a moment to revise the speech and Edward turned pink once again.

"Then I go on to say 'there stands before us a great threat to British sovereignty'... And 'in the face of adversity the unique skills and talents of those here can be celebrated and applied to the defense of our society.'" Tom looked up at them again. "Sovereignty will be key. We need to remind them that Grindelwald is Austrian as often as possible... Is that hinting enough that we will push to use dark magic?"

Erwan nodded slowly. "Anybody dark will notice it surely, and for those that don't it will still resonate."

Tom nodded, "And from there I will encourage the guests to brainstorm amongst themselves the best ways to go about it, sharing a bit about my vision with old magic." 

"Are the both of you prepared to introduce ideas and help moderate the discussion?" Tom glanced at them. Edward had a wealth of knowledge available on old magic, he was a fervent researcher, and a gifted magician, but he tended to lack focus in terms of application. Erwan was the opposite. He understood how people lived and worked, the structures and resources that they utilized, and what made them feel comfortable. However, he lacked true magical talent for most fields outside of _geometria magicis_ and transfiguration, the most commonly used fields for magi-architects.

Erwan and Edward nodded, and Tom snapped his notebook shut. "I need to go check with Roderick, make sure his charmed eavesdropping quills are set up." He looked at them both and smiled sharply, "Have faith knowing that if you bad-mouth me tonight, I will certainly hear about it."  
  
-  
**Friday, March 9th, 1945, 6:53 p.m.**

Charlus Potter stumbled inelegantly out of one of several floos in the parlor of Nott Estate. His beige skin and forest green cloak were now covered in sparkly floo powder mixed with soot. He sighed, dejected, before he quickly righted himself in time enough to catch his wife, Dorea Potter neé Black, as she spun out of the fireplace. 

She smiled at him brightly, eyes shining, "Thank you darling, I'm fine. I never fall out of the floo, unlike _some people_." She laughed at him before she made a small noise of disgust--where he had caught her were sooty handprints.

Charlus huffed. He hated the floo, he hated most magical travel save for brooms, but apparition wasn't safe like floo travel was for Dorea, so they'd be flooing exclusively for a few months more. 

Dorea smirked at him shamelessly and Charlus reveled in the reason as to why they were flooing, and his disgruntlement dissipated. She waved her wand at them both and all of the soot and leftover floo powder disappeared.

"I hope this is worth the trouble Dorea," Charlus started before he lowered his voice, "I will not be part of a Grindelwald _support rally_."

Dorea looked at him sharply, "I quite agree, dear, but I highly doubt Orion would have invited you to one. My cousin may be excitable, but he is not unintelligent."

Charlus nodded in agreement. He was naturally suspicious of Slytherins—Abraxas Malfoy and his year mates had been horrible little monsters at Hogwarts, and the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry had peaked for their year. Charlus had dealt with them a lot between Quidditch and Prefect duty and sneaking around to snog Dorea. However, early in fifth year things had changed, especially with Abraxas. Slytherin students began gravitating towards first-year Tom Riddle. Charlus had been amazed, they had treated the obviously Muggle-raised student like dirt for a few weeks, and then suddenly he was Slytherin Prince.

After that, animosity towards Slytherin eased a little, with Tom Riddle being the face of the House. Everyone liked Riddle--he was charming and brilliant, perfectly polite though aloof, adorable with his straight teeth and perfect hair, and he earned house points like a machine. Slughorn was besotted with him and invited him to every Slug Club meeting and had him tutoring because Ole’ Sluggy couldn’t be bothered.

Charlus could tell that Riddle only seemed to have problems with the Muggleborns who didn't assimilate. Many of them seemed to despise Riddle, though he didn't know why, and he never saw any fights in the halls. But the feelings of animosity from the Muggleborns in Gryffindor raised their head occasionally. It was an odd thing, and Charlus didn’t understand it.

Riddle seemed like he just tried his best to ignore them, and Charlus could understand this a little. He, himself, was noticeably less pro-Muggle than his father and brother and at times had to keep his opinions quiet. Telling Dorea what he knew about Muggles while she taught him about Wizarding History from the perspective of a Dark Witch had made Charlus warier of Muggles and made Dorea view them as actual humans, albeit dangerous ones.

"Dorea!" A tall black blur swept through the entrance hall and pulled Charlus out of his musing. Orion Black skidded to a stop and was about to pull Dorea into a bone-crushing hug before he seemed to catch himself and gave her a big, gentle hug instead. Dorea glared at him, "What was that?" 

Orion's eyes widened and he glanced between Dorea and Charlus. Charlus tried to stifle a smirk as Orion said, "Nothing! I just thought...uh... That I did not want to muss your robe? Why! What a _lovely_ shade of periwinkle, it makes your eyes look almost lavender!" Dorea flushed at the comment, though she still glanced suspiciously at Orion. Charlus rolled his eyes. Dorea had been experimenting with rune embroidery to make outfits appear more flattering. Her periwinkle robe _truly_ made her silver eyes change color when she wore it. Dorea was brilliant with runes, and she had experimented with them all over the house.

"Nice save lad," Charlus whispered to Orion and winked. He decided to change the subject to distract from the fact that rumors of Dorea's pregnancy were _spreading._ "How is your Ward Mastery coming along?"

Orion's pale face pinked, and he looked about to burst from joy over being asked about his apprenticeship. "It is going splendidly! Now that the first six months are over, I am developing my thesis for my second year. I passed my qualifying exam, so next year I should be set to take my B.A.T!"

Dorea gazed at him with a fond expression, she reminisced of Charlus all the time about how her own Runes Mastery had been a wonderfully challenging experience. She addressed Orion, "Do you know what you want to do for your thesis? I trust you will pick something you're genuinely interested in."

Orion flashed her a crooked grin, "Oh yes! I've been experimenting on the wards at Grimmauld for so long, I for sure know I want to try to do something bigger."

"Like a country estate?" Charlus asked, curious. Warding on entire estates was difficult, and usually not requested. Most old manors were protected by ancient family magic and didn't require an outside Ward Master.

Orion shook his head, "No, there's not really a demand for that. I want to do warding for villages! One big perimeter ward for a community, like Godric's Hollow or Hogsmeade. Places that need anti-Muggle wards, but don't have extraordinarily strong defensive wards." Orion looked beyond them happily, "Waly has been researching ancient village magics with Edward Nott and Tom Riddle, and I want to see what I can do with that research combined with _modern_ ward magic. It will either work wonderfully or be a _horrible_ disaster!" Orion looked ecstatic, as if a colossal failure would be just as good of a result as success.

Charlus shared a glance with Dorea.

"That sounds quite practical Orion." Charlus told him. Orion nodded, happily.

Dorea interjected sharply, "You won't get into anything illegal, Orion, will you? The Ministry does not understand the difference between old magic and dark magic--I do not want you in trouble."

Orion laughed airily, "Oh no, nothing illegal. Tom wants us to work towards changing the perception of old magic, we can't do that if it's old _dark_ magic."

Dorea looked satisfied, but Charlus was unconvinced. With the death of Dumbledore and the threat of Grindelwald, certain groups of leading figures would to try to subdue anything on the dark side of neutral in their panic. Uneasy, Charlus looked around, he hoped they didn't get caught up in the crossfire.  
  
-

 **Friday, March 9th, 1945, 7:30 p.m.**  
  
"He's quite magnetic, isn't he? I mean, I found his speech very motivating, didn't you?" Lucretia said as she turned to Cedrella, who nodded slightly, but said nothing. They resembled each other with grey eyes and black hair, though Lucretia's hair naturally fell in loose curls while Cedrella had long straight hair. Cedrella's was also considerably taller, taking after her mother, Lysandra.

Lucretia continued, "You never saw him at Hogwarts of course, being _so old_ , but he was such a little thing then, and from an unknown family. But then, Honora Shafiq, who was a fifth year at the time, tried to petrify him to abandon him in the corridors somewhere, and Tom just-" Lucretia made a stern face and whipped her wand forwards, "zap! And Honora went down. It was oh so satisfying, she was such a nasty little cunt back then." Lucretia turned to Cedrella, "and Tom was just a first year! It was incredible!" 

"Was that when Orion became his friend, then?" Cedrella asked, watching Tom Riddle chat with Orion and the Avery boy. He was certainly handsome, his navy eyes were disarming.

Lucretia looked surprised, "Oh no, Orion was his friend from the start, the sweet boy. When we were leaving Grimmauld for the train that first time, he told me that he was ever so excited to go to Hogwarts, because he wanted friends who did not have to be friends with him, because we were only ever with family growing up, you know. So, he really made a point to be friends with his year mates." Lucretia looked around, and pointed, "It was Orion, Tom Riddle, that Polish boy, Dolohov, Roderick MacNair, Ruairi MacNair's son," she added, giving Cedrella a look, "and... Geraint Rosier." She pointed at Geraint, who was in the far corner during a heated conversation with Artemis Lovegood. "He's very passionate about plants, that one," she said as she tilted her head, perplexed.

Cedrella reviewed the group. They were all from powerful families and reasonably attractive. Orion at least was magically powerful, and word was that Tom Riddle was _Lord-level capable_ , though she had never seen anything to justify the claim. Geraint was very handsome, tall with strawberry blond curls, and the Polish boy had a dark mysterious look about him. Roderick looked just like his father with pale green eyes and mouse brown hair, he seemed _a bit_ too intense.

"Sorry! What did I miss?" Ignatius asked, as he carried three glasses of wine towards them, "I got to talking with Mojdeh about her work and then It took me ages to hunt down that Bordeaux you wanted," he added, looking at Lucretia with twinkling brown eyes, "the things I do for you, darling."

Lucretia slapped at him as she took her wine, "Oh hush!" She drank her wine happily, smiling at Ignatius. She then sobered slightly and shared a look with Cedrella, "What did you think of Tom's speech, Ignatius? Me and Cedrella were just talking about it." Cedrella rolled her eyes internally, _Lucretia_ had certainly been talking.

Ignatius drank from his glass as he thought, before saying, "I think he's quite right about the focus we need to have now moving forward. If people were acting elsewhere how they were today in the Department of Magical Catastrophes, then I think some clear focus will be necessary." He shrugged, "If he can use old magic to defend the nation, that seems very clever, but I don't see how he will be able to break the association it has with dark magic. The new blood has no idea the nuances."

He looked at Cedrella and furrowed his brow, "Does Septimus' family celebrate seasonal magic? My Auntie Muriel said, I think, that they used to." Ignatius was obviously fishing for information here, but Cedrella decided to placate him. "His father, William Weasley did, as a child, I think. But Septimus' mother, she's a McKinnon, was pretty staunchly against it. She is a pure-blood, but I think they are Christians. I know that Septimus has never celebrated Lughnasa, Imbolc, solstices, or equinoxes, but I think his father has had them do small things on Beltane and Samhain." She nodded towards Tom Riddle, "I am going to bring him to the Spring Equinox festival Riddle is planning, I think he will quite like it." Cedrella smiled at this thought, and Lucretia shared a glance with Ignatius. 

"It will be a fantastic time, I imagine. Quite overrun with fellow Blacks," Lucretia smirked, then gestured toward Ignatius, "Valentine and his wife Beatrix will be there, and Callidora will be bringing Harfang, and Dorea shall be bringing Charlus...." 

Cedrella listened as Lucretia went on, still pondering what it would mean to show Septimus what it meant to celebrate magic the old way.  
  
-  
**Friday, March 9th, 1945, 7:40 p.m.**

Artemis Lovegood had lily-white skin and flaxen hair and big beautiful mint green eyes and Geraint Rosier always had a challenging time avoiding looking foolish in front of her.  “I agree that bowtruckes could be weaponized, Geraint, with the right training and incentive, but I think they would serve better as messengers."

Geraint, trying valiantly to pull out of his lovestruck stupor, said, "How would you train them? With my idea for offensive bowtruckles, you would only have to plant their preferred trees on a perimeter, developing a communication system is much more difficult."

Geraint's eyes became unfocused as Artemis giggled and smiled. "You monitor their pheromones! All magical creatures emit pheromones. If you spell the area where they live to trigger at a certain threshold of whatever compounds they release when agitated, you will know when many of them are all upset at once! And nothing but a person or blight would affect them all at once, and as a hedgewizard you would be concerned about either, right?"

Geraint smiled at her hugely, blue eyes twinkling. "You're a genius, Artemis!" He exclaimed.

Artemis looked bashful, "Creature magic is my specialty Geraint," she swept her hair behind her right ear, and Geraint gazed the curve of her throat where it met her green robes, "You will owl me if you try this? I can help with the spell work and the wee beasties."

Geraint looked up into her wide guileless eyes and swallowed. "That would be wonderful."

Artemis looked pleased and grabbed his hand, “Excellent! Come with me to the terrace I want to talk to you about these Forsythias.”  
  
-  
  
Tom stood confidently amongst a group of former Hogwarts students who had been several years ahead of him. They had been interested in what he had to say but had truly little of note in terms of suggestions. He politely excused himself when he saw Abraxas winding towards him through the crowd.  
Abraxas had a second goblet of wine and handed it off to Tom. "Has tonight been successful _Lord_ Slytherin?"

Tom drank from his glass and smirked. "Do not say that _too_ loudly, my friend, I don't want to ruin the surprise." Tom intended to hold out revealing his Lordship status until after this party, he did not want to announce it on the same damn day as Dumbledore's death, it seemed a bit tactless.

Abraxas mirrored his smirk. "I have not been fortunate enough to overhear any worthwhile plans or strategies, though I did discover that Apollo Lovegood loves your ideas about old magic, is thinking of purchasing a printing press, and has many connections in France." Tom's gaze sharpened. "That may be worth cultivating a deeper friendship over-- Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France will most likely be our closest allies against 'The Greater Good.'" Tom knew that the French had been embroiled in their fight against Grindelwald ever since he gained control of Germany. They had put up a valiant fight since 1941, but they had been severely hampered in their defense due to the German occupation of Muggle France. There had been an internal debate over whether magicals should become involved in the Muggle war, but Grindelwald's attacks had shifted their focus. Apparently Minister Spencer-Moon had a similar debate within his Ministry but had decided to adhere to the Statute of Secrecy. Tom would like to have been apathetic and rejoice in the fall of the muggles on both sides, but their destructive capabilities made him supremely uneasy, and he was fairly certain that there were few, if any, wizards in positions of power who understood the true nature of the threat they posed.

Tom tapped his index finger against his glass as he studied the room. "Do you think Roderick would be willing to spy on his own father?"

Abraxas had been watching Erwan, William, and Antonin talk to a group of girls who had also been in Slytherin and was caught off guard. "Roderick would do what you asked of him Tom, though I imagine he might intend to anyway. He has become slightly worried about the MacNair reputation as of late."  
Tom nodded. "He and Malcolm will both be set to discovering the Grindelwald supporters within our borders. They're well suited for it."

Tom cast tempus and saw it was slightly after nine. "I am going to find Edward to make a copy of that dossier before I go home, will you and Erwan close the party?"  
Abraxas nodded, and bowed slightly. “Before you go, here is that datebook. I will try to make some headway with those I know tomorrow at the Ministry, we can discuss it Sunday.”

Tom took the notebook before he disposed of his empty glass and collected Edward.  
  
-  
**Number 6, Provinch Alley, London England**

**Friday, March 9th, 1945, 9:10 p.m.**

Provinch Alley was situated parallel to Knockturn as a short dead-end avenue off Diagon Alley. The street was close, and the buildings were dark and drab. Tom lived in building 6, on the third story, in a tiny flat that he rented for two galleons a month. It was a slum, but it was a palace compared to Wool's, and it was cheap enough that Tom had been steadily saving up and his investments through Gringotts had allowed him to purchase a wizard's full wardrobe from a reputable tailor and fund his rare manuscript library.

He made his way through the weathered door, up the four flights of stairs, and unlocked his flat. He sighed in relief once inside as he stretched his magic and wandlessly set about his evening routine. Tom was a powerful wizard, and he had limited opportunity during the day to do complicated or wandless magic working at Borgin and Burkes. It also unsettled people for magic to be happening with no wand in sight. Most days he did surface-level _legilimacy_ on those around him that the tension was eased slightly. This had the added benefit of him knowing _all sorts_ of secrets.

Tom carefully sent his outer robe towards his wardrobe with a light _scourgify_ following. The actions repeated for his suit jacket and tie. His oxfords went by the door, his leather notebook went on his desk, he charmed his kettle, and he fed his snake. He brought out his only glass, and poured two fingers of scotch before adding honey, cinnamon, and water from his kettle. Tom quietly set the kitchen to rights and made his way over to his desk while he sipped his drink.

On top of the desk were two nearly identical black notebooks: one that he kept notes in throughout the day, and another that was... special.   
He flipped open the second notebook.  
  
**Diary-**  
_I wish you'd call me something other than Diary, you know how I hate it.  
_  
Tom burned his tongue on his drink and glared at the book.  
  
**Shut up, something important has happened.  
**_Did you get the locket? I told you it would be eas-  
_**No shut up. Dumbledore was killed by Gellert Grindelwald today, and many things have happened since.  
**_Just because I have no body does not mean I would not curse you for attempting to trick me._  
**You are insufferable. I am not attempting to lie to you, Diary, the news has been all over the WWN today.**    
_You expect me to believe that Dumbledore was defeated by some drop-out Durmstrang half-rate dark wizard? I remember Grindelwald from when we were whole, Tom. He was terrified of fighting the Professor, he never would have confronted him.  
_**Dumbledore went after him the great idiot. Erwan found out about the battle and the ICW involvement, it happened in Cologne. I cannot believe Dumbledore do something so idiotic, what an advantage to hand to Grindelwald.  
**_..._  
**Do you truly not believe me, Diary?  
**_Shut up! I am thinking about what this means for us. Are you going to begin your coup as Lord Voldemort now? I do not think you are ready.  
_**No, the entire plan has changed, I am-**  
_The entire plan has changed?! What do you mean? It is a perfect plan, we have worked so hard on it. I have worked though of every miniscule little detail-  
_**I am to be something even better.  
**_Even better? You cannot mean Lord Gaunt, you will be laughed right out of the ministry being associated with those mongrels.  
_**No , not Lord Gaunt. I went to Gringotts to get my letters patent, so that I could get my hereditary seat for the ministry.**  
_You're going to leave a paper trail!  
_**And I found out from Ragnok that I was the Heir of Slytherin,  
**_All that build up! We knew that already!   
_**And he presented me with the Lordship ring.  
**_..._  
**Which will only declare a Lord Slytherin who is mighty in magic, and strong in character.  
**_..._  
**...  
**_..._  
**I am Lord Slytherin.  
**_..._  
**...**  
_You are not jesting?_  
**No.**  
...  
**So, as I said, all the plans need to change.  
**_I see that... What have you done so far?_  
**Information gathering, reports, and then we had a political action party. I heard about Dumbledore first from Orion around two, it is nearly nine-thirty now.  
**_You had a party to celebrate Dumbledore's death? Is that not too on the nose?_  
  
Tom huffed.   
  
**We explicitly did not celebrate Dumbledore's death, we focused instead on protecting Britain from Grindelwald.  
**  
There was a long pause from the diary.  
  
_You can sit on the Wizengamont as Lord Slytherin?_  
**Yes, after the paperwork goes through.**    
_What is the result of all this? I need to know you are thinking clearly and not big-headed over Dumbledore's defeat. How will all this help us achieve greatness and power?_  
**Watch it, Diary.  
**  
Tom glared at the book.  
  
_Humor me?_  
**Fine. I am going to bring foundational magic back to our society, as we have always planned, that has not changed. A country at war adapts the fastest, with Grindelwald as a threat the adaption of the old ways to defend us will be swift.**  
_How will you ensure you are the one dictating the changes?_  
**Through any means necessary, you know the lengths to which I will go. But at this point I intend to be involved directly with the war effort in some manner.**  
_Fine._

Tom could _feel_ the huffiness of the Diary.

 _You have anything for me?_  
  
Tom flipped to the next page of the notebook and copied over all the text from the confidential Wizengamont dossier. He then did the same with notes he had written throughout the day in the small leather book, and several weeks worth of the Minister’s agenda.  
  
**Here is the dossier for the Wizengamont meeting, I do not have time to read it as in depth as I would like.  
**_Yes, fine._  
**And my notes from today as well as the Minister’s datebook I pocketed it today from Emmaline Spencer. I need to be at the ministry at eight to submit the paperwork before the Wizengamont, so I would appreciate feedback before then.  
**_Alright, I will read this carefully. I will have a report for you in the morning in addition to your normal schedule._  
**Excellent, Diary. Goodnight.  
**_Tom?_  
**Yes?**  
_Will you call me Lord Voldemort then? If you are not going to use it?_  
  
Tom slammed the book closed with a snarl. Diary Horcrux was such an impertinent little arsehole. Tom glanced down at the Peverell ring on his left hand and quietly said, "thank Salazar you do not speak."   
Two Tom Riddles was very efficient, albeit exasperating. Three would be far too unwieldy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter for you, it was harder to edit this one, I'm trying to add in more physical descriptors and attitudes and make sure I'm including everything I need moving forward. It also had that long genealogy bit which eats up the word count.  
> That's the end of the first day! Yippie!
> 
> The old english garbage is a thing I translated on the internet. It really does mean something along the lines of what Ragnok said, I don't think it's worth translating. But I thought it would make sense for Salazar Slytherin to leave something behind in an archaic language, not modern english. Just a bit of fun.
> 
> The Polish phrase is "The Magical Polish Government in Exile." The historical counterpart was in exile during WWII, and I thought it best to parallel that. 
> 
> Let me know what you think of Diary Tom! and all the other characters, and how your week went and what you're up to.
> 
> I've been reading a [Of a Linear Circle](https://archiveofourown.org/series/755028) and [ Swung by Serafim](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9821300/chapters/22052543) by flamethrower. A+ recommendation.
> 
> First Posted: Monday, February 11th, 2019


	5. Chapter 5

**Number 6, Provinch Alley, London England**

**Saturday, March 9th, 1945, 6:28 a.m.**

_*Tom. Tom. My ssstone isss cold*_

Tom groaned.

_*I sssee you are awake, it isss time for you to pay attention to me*_

Tom felt the weight of the large constrictor sliding up the length of his body. Nathair finally settled with his head nestled in Tom's hair, his coils weighing heavily on Tom's torso and neck.

_*You are warm and my sssun ssstone isss not. You mussst get up and renew the magic at once.*_

_*I cannot do anything about your ssstone Nathair if you continue to sssit on my like thisss*_

_*I ssshall not move, you will fall back to sssleep and I will turn to iccce*_

Tom opened his eyes and cast a wandless tempus. It was 6:28 AM, only two minutes before his alarm. He sighed and wrenched his body upright, the additional thirty pounds of snake making it slightly difficult. He gathered Nathair up in his arms and dropped him gracelessly on the single bed before moving to the loo to take a piss. Washing his hands, he looked up into the cracked mirror and grimaced at his bleary expression.

Tea first, then Tom could think and deal with a bossy snake.  
  
Tom went back into main room of the flat and wandlessly made his bed with Nathair in it, laughing at the disgruntled hissing. After tea, an overpowered warming charm, a shower, and a change into a nice set of black robes with embroidered hems, black trousers, and a forest green waistcoat, he sat down at his desk.  
  
**What have you learned, dear Diary.**  
_They're appointing Rodina Moody to be the Army Commander and taking votes for who is to become Department Head of a war department. You should hope it is someone we know, so that you can make your way into the department at a higher level than serving fucking tea. It's likely to be older Auror personnel, maybe a current or former Chief Inspector or DMLE head. If it's a dark mage, we will be better off, obviously.  
_**Anything else?**  
_Just appointments in the wake of Dumbledore and maybe a more detailed rehashing of what you learned yesterday. By the way, you mentioned Erwan’s information from Wilhelmina Tuft and Cyrene Greengrass? They’re both rather close to the Minister. Which is good news for us._

It was good Erwan was skilled at buttering up older women, it was turning out to be invaluable. And not something Tom was interested in **_at all_**.

 _Unfortunately there's a few you need to watch out for who seem to have both power and oppositional views to our own with frequent contact with the minister.  
_**Who?**  
_Well Fleamont Potter seems to be a friend through someone called "Euffie," though Abraxas thought Henry may be an ally, his son may oppose him. Walter and Millie Bones are law-abiding types, though seem rather neutral in terms of magic. Berwyn Fenwick, Dedalus Diggle, and Elphias Dodge have always been strongly pro-Dumbledore, and I could see any of them causing a panic over dark magic. They're active Wizengamont members and appear to have meetings with Minister Moon for various committees. McKinnon is the only Head of a Department I'm concerned about.  
_**Why? Which department?**  
_Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And you know that will be a problem considering all of the anti-dark creature regulations that have been coming through over the last few years._  
  
Tom grumbled and rubbed his eyes.  
  
**Thank you Diary. Anything else?  
**_Not at the moment from the documents. Would you be willing to do me a favor?_

Tom wrinkled his nose at the thought of doing favors for a _diary_. Even one that held a rather large portion of his own soul.

 **What favor?**  
_Leave the WWN on, or the muggle radio, and charm a dict-o-quill. It would keep me entertained throughout the day instead of slipping into the endless miasma that is being trapped alone with my thoughts with neither physical form nor sense of time._  
  
Tom burned his tongue on his tea. "Christ."  
  
**Yes fine. Let me copy out today's schedule first, then I will set up your stupid quill.**  
  
\---  
**Wizengamont Administration Services, Level 2, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

**Saturday, March 9th, 1945, 8:05 a.m.**

It is still early, so the ministry is blessedly quiet as Tom makes his way to the Wizengamont Administration Services on level two. Tom hesitated for a moment when he saw the solitary office clerk as she looked frighteningly familiar with gooseberry green eyes, set a in round, happy face, fair pinkish skin, and hair the color of straw. She wore a high-necked dress with many, many buttons—the seams of the velvet ensemble were fit to bursting.

Tom arranged his expression to one of comradery. "Dear Madam,” She looked up, startled. “You wouldn't happen to be related to one _Horace Slughorn_ , would you?"

Her eyes lit up as she took in Tom's handsome face and tall frame. "Oh _yes!_ He is my brother!" She reached over to shake his hand. "Camilla Slughorn-Gamp, at your service. Are you one of Horace's dear club members then?"

"Yes, I certainly am,” Tom smiled widely. “Tom Marvolo Riddle, Madam. Incredibly pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Well now!" She exclaims. "Mister _Head Boy_ Tom Riddle. Oh, have I _ever_ heard an ear-full about you!" Her green eyes twinkled good-naturedly, but he could tell she was massively curious about him being up and about Ministry level two.

He smiled shyly but watched her carefully. "All good things I hope?"

She sat back into her chair, making it creak loudly. "Horace has had _nothing_ but fantastic things to say about you, dear boy.” Tom inwardly grimaced. Slughorn had been truly devastated when Tom left school with nothing better waiting in the wings beyond a position buying and selling dark artifacts at Borgin and Burkes. If his laments towards Camilla were anything like those Tom himself had experienced, she had heard far much more about him than he’d rather strangers be knowing.

 “Now," she clapped her hands in a return to their business, "What can we do for you here today in Wizengamont Administration Services?"

Tom _accio-ed_ the rolled-up letters patent from his bag and handed it over. "I need to submit letters patent in order to claim my hereditary seat on the Wizengamont."

Her eyebrows rose at that. Horace must have told her (and innumerable others) that he was muggleborn, or at least a muggle-raised orphan. She unrolled the parchment and peered at the writing, before she promptly gasped, dropped the papers which proceeded to spring back into a roll. She looked up at him with wide eyes, then unrolled the parchment again.

"You are... by Salazar. _Salazar!"_ She put her hand over her mouth to stifle a hysterical giggle. “Salazar _Slytherin_!” Tom waited patiently, appreciating the reverence.

Camilla Slughorn-Gamp pulled herself together _admirably_ and looked up at him with wide, shining eyes. "How truly _marvelous_ , dear boy." She shook her head and pulled out some officious looking stamps. “I just have to notarize it and run you through the magical authentication. Is that okay?” Tom nodded.

She took a deep breath and locked eyes with Tom before beginning, "Do you hereby swear in front of magic and creation, Tom Marvolo Riddle, these letters to be true in regard to the nature of your ancestry?" Tom held the eye contact and spoke clearly, "I do so swear." An almost imperceptible silver shimmer appeared above the letters and settled at his confirmation.

Camilla smiled as the magic affirmed him and continued, "Then by writ of the Magic of the lands of England, Ireland, Wales, and Scotland, you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, heir of body of Lord Salazar Slytherin, Magical Earl of Norfolk, are hereby recognized by the Ministry of Magic as Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin, Magical Earl of Norfolk." As she concluded, Tom felt the same silver shimmery magic settle around his lordship ring, it did not look any different, but he could feel…earth magic perhaps? It was something terribly like the magic that swirled through ley lines.

"Pending processing through the Ministry, you will be sworn into the Wizengamont as a hereditary peer on the next available full session. You will receive an automatic summons via owl." Camilla then took the big silver stamp, coated it in a metallic looking dye, and transferred it to the blank corner at the top right of his papers.

Tom joy had built at each wave of magic throughout the process, and he felt uncharacteristically magnanimous as he grinned at Camilla Slughorn-Gamp.

"I'm pleased to be the first to say congratulations, Lord Slytherin." She smiled widely, "This will cause quite a stir I imagine."

"Thank you very much." Tom then smirked.

He thought to leave, but paused before he made a move to do so. "I would never ask you _not_ to tell your brother that I came through here this morning, he wouldn't be quick to forgive if he knew you kept such news from him, but if you could _pressure_ him to keep it to himself for now? Until my swearing in of course, I would very much appreciate it."

Camilla had a look of malicious glee at that. "He will simply _die_ not being able to boast about it! Oh yes! You have my _word_ Tom."

And with the grin still on his face, Tom swanned out of the office towards the lifts.  
  
\---  
**Great Hall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland**

**Saturday, March 9th, 1945, 5:15 p.m.**

A fierce looking barn own swept in amongst Evening Prophet delivery owls and made its way towards the head table. It landed neatly and held out its leg, where a letter was tied with a bright green silk ribbon.

"Who is that from Horace?" Herbert Beery asked, between bites of roast.

Horace Slughorn scowled in disgust at his friend's lack of manners and the unsightly mess of partially-masticated roast he had just been forced to witness. He untied the letter from the owl, who hooted cheerfully and ripped a strip off his own portion of roast.

"Looks like my sister Camilla’s owl. She must be responding to the news about Albus."

Herbert nodded, and chewed his food mournfully, looking at the owl who was now attempting to sip from a water goblet. He poured it more water as Horace opened his letter. At the sound of a quick gasp and a choking noise, he spilled the pitcher and the owl bit him forcefully on the knuckle. "Blast! Ow! Horace are you dying, man? What was that?"

Horace ignored him and read the short letter a second time. He looked up and stared at the owl, the letter, and then Herbert. "My sister… has sent me the most...startling news. _Good_ news, but rather unexpected. _Very_ unexpected." His brow furrowed, "...and she has _asked_ me not to say anything of it to anyone else!"

Herbert quickly cast _episkey_ at his finger and looked at him incredulously. "That sounds rather _difficult_ for you Horace, is not the business of your life visiting and news? How will you cope?"

Horace glared at him. "The business of my life visiting and news!" He broke into a wide smile, "Well you are quite right at that, my friend. Hmm." He tapped a finger against his lips and glared at the letter with light green eyes. "I cannot _say_ anything, but there is no stopping me from simply sharing this letter with you. If I had incentive to, of course." He glanced at Herbert out of the corner of his eye.

Herbert huffed and rolled his eyes. "Six measures of fluxweed picked at the full moon."

Horace smiled sharply. "Twelve, and four bundles of knotgrass."

Herbert rolled his eyes. "Nine, three bundles, and two bottles of my knotgrass mead."

"Deal!" Horace shook his hand and threw the letter at his face, " _Hurry_ , read it!"

Horace looked on as Herbert read the letter twice over. He looked up in astonishment and met Horace's eyes. "This is incredible!"

Horace smiled widely. "I know! Our Tom Riddle, Lord--"

Herbert quickly shoved his hand over Horace's mouth to stifle him. "Hush, you gossipy _numpty_. This is _not_ the place." He looked around the Great Hall and noticed students listening in and watching them. Horace saw them too, as well as Headmaster Dippet's disapproving gaze. Herbert leaned over, "Keep it together until after pudding, then we can crack open the _mead_ and you can wax poetic about your _favorite_ Head Boy."

Horace Slughorn smiled happily and devoured the rest of his dinner with haste.  
  
\---  
  
**Wizengamont Council Courtroom, Level 10, Ministry of Magic, London, England**

**Saturday, March 9th, 1945, 8:52 a.m.**

Alphard had been nagged into coming to the Ministry on his day off, which also happened to be a _beautiful_ Saturday morning. He was condemned to waste away the day politicking and attempting to uphold ‘Black Family Values.’

His father, Pollux Black, had been holding the Black family Wizengamont seat for the one year since Cygnus Black I died in 1943. Pollux really did not have the constitution to be in law, but Sirius had stepped down as Lord Black and Arcturus had been the heir. As a result, Arcturus handled all the finances and properties, dealt with most all of the mandatory social engagements, and, unsurprisingly, had no time left for sitting on the Wizengamont for several hours a week. Pollux, who had spent the previous 23 years being a wastrel, content with spending money as fast as he was allowed it, and going on lavish vacations with his vapid wife, and Alphard, Walburga, and Cygnus II’s mother, Irma, had been assigned the seat as Cygnus' heir. Pollux had been given strict instructions as to how the family required him to vote, as dictated by Sirius and Arcturus, but it was hard keeping his many loud, uninformed opinions close to the vest. He was struggling and had come to the realization that he ought to train up one of his children to take the seat so as to return to his usual lifestyle as a drunken reprobate.

Walburga was a girl, and Pollux was not too keen on her being the face of the family. Cygnus was much like Pollux in demeanor and was the most _favored_ child, but he was still in Hogwarts. Alphard was his middle child, and though Pollux thought him to be too soft and a bit of an annoying know-it-all, he would make a fine Wizengamont Council member.  
Alphard hadn't been so keen on the idea, but Walburga had begged him to do it (their parents were around far too much anymore, and it was driving her spare), and Cousin Arcturus and grand-uncle Sirius had asked him to a private meeting where he had been given incentive enough. Alphard had been encouraged to keep up with his apprenticeship in finance at Gringotts and the family would not interfere with career choices (Alphard wanted to invest in the muggle stock exchange, and was learning a great deal about it in preparation, muggles were fascinating and had _heaps_ of money), he would be paid two-thirds of what Pollux made for holding the seat from the Black family vaults, until Pollux officially passed the seat on, at which point he would be paid in full from the Ministry with a 25% bonus from the family.

His major requirements were to present a decent and elegant face to the Black Family, protect family interests in the Ministry, and to squash the rumors of "black madness" that had come in the wake of Cygnus' highly-publicized, violent death. Pollux had been doing a horrible job with all three points, and would fly into a rage whenever he thought he heard insinuations of him being unhinged.

Alphard sat back into the bench and relaxed, Pollux was not even coming today, he had been too strung out from the meeting yesterday, trying to do as Arcturus asked and show dignity while also being ecstatic about Grindelwald's victory over Professor Dumbledore. Today would be long and tedious, exacerbated by the fact that he was exhausted from working late the night before.

After arranging his thoughts about the general unfairness of his situation and the papers from the dossier on the desk, he looked down the aisle of the council chambers and caught the eye of Tom Riddle coming towards him. Surprised, he asked, "What are you doing here Tom?" by way of greeting.

"I had paperwork to submit on Level two, plus I am very invested in the outcome of today's proceedings." Tom looked rather smart today, sometimes Alphard would visit him at Borgin and Burke's and his work robes, while nice, didn't have the same feeling of finery as this black and green ensemble. Though Tom did tend to look elegant regardless of where he was or what he was wearing. Something about the way he held himself. Alphard refocused and quirked his head. "Oh? Conducting secret business, how exciting." He grinned slyly and gestured towards the seat on the bench next to him, "Please sit Tom, I won't bite."

"You missed the event last night," Tom said as he folded himself onto the bench next to him, rather accusatorially in Alphard’s opinion.

"Ah yes. I _am_ sorry Tom." Tom huffed and Alphard smiled again, "But I was detained at work. No time for questionable political events when the Gringotts Goblins have need of you, I'm afraid." Tom scowled at that. Tom would have no trouble rudely refusing the requests of goblins, but they were not _his_ employers, so it was hardly a fair comparison.

Alphard adjusted himself on the bench to face Tom properly. "Come now, we have ten minutes before session starts, catch me up on your _grand scheme_ , I know you have one."  
  
Tom certainly did have a grand scheme, and he knew that he didn't hear even half of it, but from what he could determine, Tom was planning a long-term complete overhaul of _at least_ the Ministry of Magic, if not the entirety of British wizarding society. Alphard approved of his anti-Grindelwald stance as well as the focus on old magic and seasonal rites, but he knew there was a lot not being said regarding blood purity and the general bigotry that seemed rampant within old family circles. He would watch and see how things played out and intervene if necessary. He had scolded Tom Riddle and their other Slytherin friends for their unethical behavior in the past, he held no fear of doing so again.

Their amicable discussion cut short as the Wizengamont Council meeting was called to order. Tom was radiating excitement beside him and it forced Alphard to feel more alert.  
  
"The situation that Grindelwald presents needs to be addressed," Chief Wicca Kettleburn announced. “Without unnecessary delays and fussing this time.”

"We have been asked numerous times by the ICW to play a more active role in our mutual alliance and actively intervene, as opposed to our previous financial and intelligence joint operations, against Grindelwald's forces. In the wake of the attack on Dover as well as yesterday's battle in Cologne, I move to put forth a vote to formally declare war against Grindelwald, his army, and his allies within Central Europe."

Minister Spencer-Moon stood. "I second this motion, we all have a duty to protect our citizens, and with a formal declaration of war we gain the vital resource that is the reformation of the Department of War and all subsidiary offices."

Kettleburn nodded at him, then addressed the council. "All in favor of a declaration of war against Grindelwald _et cetera_?"

Practically everyone raised their wands in the air, including Alphard. Several people had outbursts of magic given the whirl of emotions, either in response to the attack in Devon or the death of Professor Dumbledore.

"All opposed?" Nobody raised their hands, and Alphard lifted his eyes to the sky in thanks at the fact that his father had stayed home.

"All abstaining?" Alphard did not even have to look to know that Wizengamont members MacNair, Carrow, and Selwyn had abstained. He sneaked a glance at Tom and saw his sneer of distain.  
  
"Motion carried by two-thirds majority vote." Kettleburn moved on to the next point. "With this formal declaration of war, the Ministry has reformed the Ministry of Magic Department of War, disbanded since the end of the American War of Independence. Given this, the Minister may appoint a Commander to the magical armed forces. Minister?"

Spencer-Moon stood again. "My appointment to the position of MAF Commander is Auror Chief Inspector, Rodina Moody." Whispering filled the chamber this declaration—Rodina Moody was a fierce Auror with an impressive arrest record and was well known for her skill in dueling and magical defense. Alphard knew she was an excellent nomination, based on talks with cousin Regulus, but from looking around he saw several scowling faces. Some, he was sure, were because Moody was a Light Grey witch, and that was too Light for some and too Dark for others, but that was inevitable. He could hear the whispers that some were thinking her unqualified for the apparent bad luck of being born a woman. His eyes narrowed as he saw that Doge and Fenwick, Wizengamont members whose families were notoriously sympathetic towards muggles, seemed to have something unexpected in common with bigoted old dark magic users: misogyny.

"Walburga would be enraged if she were here to see how these men are acting," he whispered to Tom.

They met eyes and he saw Tom's smirk in response. "She would probably subject them to her speech on the history of women's equality in magical society contrasted to the despicable attitudes perpetuated by muggle religions."

Alphard grinned. "That is a great speech. Pollux heard the whole of it Tuesday at dinner for being an unmitigated asshole."

Tom snickered and they returned their attention to the Chief Wicca.  
  
"Department Head will be appointed by majority ruling of the Wizengamont. We will now open the floor to accept nominations."

Madam Undersecretary Greengrass stood up quickly, "I nominate Belvina Burke neé Black, retired Chief Auror, as Head of the War Department."

Alphard's eyes widened in surprise and he turned sharply to focus on movement on the other side of the room. Elaios Malfoy had stood. "I second the nomination for Belvina Burke."

The Chief Wicca nodded. Tom leaned in towards him. "Another Black cousin?" Alphard shook himself out of his surprise. "Great-aunt actually. She is fearsome and a magnificent duelist. Youngest Chief Auror in two centuries, she just retired last year." He pointed her out to Tom and was caught out by Belvina. She smirked at him and he sent her a sheepish wave. Tom was looking at her appraisingly and nodded.

“I move to nominate myself, George Hammond, Permanent Secretary of the Department of Magical Cooperation." A greying, mustachioed man in a pinstripe suit and bowler hat announced.

A beat passes without a second, but then Diggle stood up and squeaked, "I second the nomination!" Alphard saw Belvina's eyes narrow dangerously at Diggle.  
  
After no further nominations, Kettleburn let the voting commence. Belvina Burke was elected by a narrow majority, lines divided between light, neutral, and grey. Hammond looked ruffled and slightly surprised. Diggle and Doge looked murderous. Alphard clapped for Belvina and noticed Tom writing names down rapidly in his notebook with a fountain pen. Curious. Tom seemed even more observant than normal, Alphard had not even known that was possible.  
  
Kettleburn announced, "Minister of Magic Leonard Spencer-Moon has the floor."  
  
The minister stepped up to the podium next to Kettleburn. "Muggle Britain and its allies are succeeding in their muggle world war. Further attacks on sovereign British soil from Grindelwald risk the statute of secrecy as the fighting dies down. The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee has prepared a report for you today regarding this problem." He yielded the floor to Septimus Weasley, of all people, looking nervous and wearing a long navy woolen coat over a dove-grey muggle styled suit. Weasley presented the report on the Dover cover-up which included a brief history of muggle aeroplanes, much to the disbelief of those gathered. Alphard noticed Tom's disparaging gaze at those muttering around them and figured Weasley must be, more or less, accurate. He moved on to describe the way that Grindelwald's forces fought (massive destruction and indiscriminate casualties), and how that was a risk to the statute of secrecy, obviously. It all boiled down to two major points: Grindelwald targeted magicals who lived in a mixed-muggle area and he had no concerns over who saw his fighters because he wanted to over throw the International Statute of Secrecy anyway.

Alphard could sense Tom's displeasure and looked at him curiously. "This would have an easy solution if we had defendable magical villages like Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley instead of mixed magical-muggle settlements." Alphard nodded. Godric's Hollow had become increasingly muggle over the last century, as had Ottery St. Catchpole. Ancient wizarding villages had all but evaporated, leaving behind only stately manor homes. Muggleborns, half-bloods, and pureblood wizards without family estates had to choose the limited housing available in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade or living mixed in the muggle world. There were small wizarding neighborhoods in some of the bigger cities, but they were not isolated to allow for magical defense like the wards on Hogwarts Castle grounds.

Some people, like Alphard's family, had a family estate, but chose to live in fashionable muggle homes in addition. Those homes could be warded, as Orion Black was wont to do, but there was a nostalgic yearning to live in a magical community where you could be open about your magic like at Hogwarts that couldn't be fulfilled living in the muggle world. Being able to practice magic outside in a community setting may have been one of the things Alphard missed most about his days in school.  
  
Alphard listened as Minister Spencer-Moon briefed the Wizengamont about the battle between the ICW and Grindelwald in Cologne, how Professor Dumbledore died, and how they were appointing the previous ICW envoy Hector Podmore to his former role while we prepare to select a new delegate to replace Dumbledore.  
  
After a few similar announcements it was approaching noon, and Chief Wicca Kettleburn opened the floor to the council. Alphard's most fervent wish was for everyone to shut up and end the session, but it was not to be borne.  
  
After a few inquiries about Professor Dumbledore's funeral, the workings of the War Department, the formation of the army, and other valid concerns, Elphias Doge stood up to speak. Alphard groaned quietly, Doge was beyond irritating with his high-pitched, wheezy voice, and looked like he was about to say something truly moronic. "Albus Dumbledore was _never_ proud or vain; he could find something to value in anyone, however apparently insignificant or wretched, and I believe that his early losses endowed him with great humanity and sympathy. I shall miss his friendship more than I can say, but my loss is as nothing compared to the wizarding world’s. That he was the most inspiring and the best loved of all Hogwarts professors cannot be in question." Doge took a deep, rasping breath before he continued, shakily, "He died as he lived: working _always_ for the greater good, and to his last hour, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small boy with dragon pox as he was on the day that I met him." [1]

Alphard scowled and shared a look with Tom. "For the _greater good_?" Tom hissed, "Is he a fucking idiot?"

Alphard patted him on the leg. "Yes Tom. I think that’s quite safe to say." Tom looked uncharacteristically ruffled at the hyperbolic praise of Professor Albus Dumbledore. Alphard thought it was funny, but was disgruntled at the inappropriate impromptu eulogy during a formal Wizengamont meeting.

With no more concerns after Doge’s declaration, the meeting finally ended, thank Merlin, and Alphard made his way out of the chambers at Tom's heels. He was thankful nobody took it upon themselves to condemn all _dark wizards_ for now and forever in the middle of a Wizengamont session as he would be obligated, out of personal conviction as well as his contract with Cousin Arcturus, to publically defend dark magic and dark families. Based on the muttering, that kind of overblown response might not be completely out of the realm of possibility.  
  
Alphard turned to Tom. "It was rather nice to see you today Tom, I enjoy your perspective on things like these.” He smiled ruefully. “I am sorry I missed out on your politicking last night."

Tom met his eyes and grinned wickedly. "I will forgive you, if you come duel with us tomorrow. Your sister's been invited, you will simply have to accompany her."

"Well, if you want me to be there so _badly_ ," Alphard said airily.

"I insist." Tom's smile was sharp, and Alphard's breath caught at the sudden intensity. He forced himself to relax. "Tomorrow then."

He and Tom had reached the bank of fireplaces in the Atrium. He turned to Tom preempting their departure. "Tomorrow we will be brimming with gossip direct from the family dinner, I trust you’re looking forward to hearing the recounting thrice over."

Tom rolled his eyes, "I will get hex-happy if I have to suffer so." His smile faded and he nodded, and Alphard gave a slight bow, and they went their separate ways.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter, I spoiled you all last week.
> 
> I am going to go back and make a few slight edits, as I've been flushing out the rest of the story I've realized I need Tom to be slightly more overcome with youthful vanity and big-headedness regarding his thoughts on the Basilisk release (briefly mentioned last chapter), and make it slightly more obvious that Moaning Myrtle was more or less an accidental death. He did murder the Riddles though so don't be worried about that, but it suits my story better if he can feel like he didn't do his best work releasing a monster and almost forcing Hogwarts to close. It was sloppy, and Diary Tom hasn't learned that yet, so hopefully I'll have a lot of opportunities to showcase how three years has matured Tom in contrast. It'll be fun, you'll love it.
> 
> Let me know what you liked! Comments are wonderful and you're wonderful for taking the time to let me know how you felt about the story. 
> 
> I might change the tags, the Tomarry tag was for book 3 anyway, and I'm now realizing how much is between there and here and how I don't want to force anything between a relatively canon Harry and a Diary Tom that hasn't had his story told yet. So... Probably Tomarry in book 3, but it's nebulous right now as to how or why.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homophobic language towards the end, during the dinner

**Dining Room, Malfoy Manor, West Amesbury, Wiltshire, England**

**Saturday, March 9th, 1945, 12:55 p.m.**

“I miss Eilonwy. When will she be home for the equinox party? I think she’d like a party, school must be difficult. Do you think she misses us?” Nimune Malfoy sat with her elbows the table, swinging her legs in her seat while she waited for lunch.

“She says she does in all of her letters Nimy. I don’t think she’s a liar, do you?” Abraxas asked, looking up at her from that morning's Daily Prophet.

Nimune looked horrified, “No! Of course not. She’s not a rude person like _you._ ” Abraxas gaped. “What do you mean by that? Calling me rude? I think that was a rude thing to do, which makes you rude, not me.” She gasped, horrified. “Nuh-uh, you lie all the time. At the New Year Ball, you told me you couldn’t stand Tethys Carrow, and then you talked and smiled at her like it was anything anyway!” She wriggled around in her seat to kneel on her chair. Wielding a butter knife like a sword she shouted, “Who did you lie to Brax? Me or her?” Abraxas’s eyes widened. “Tell the truth, you scallywag!” she shouted. Abraxas grinned and transfigured his own butter knife as well as the one in her hands into a pair of large wooden sabers. Nimune grinned as Abraxas jumped from his chair and flourished his sword at her. “Avast ye! You dare sully my name with your foul untruths? _En garde_!” Nimune giggled but leapt out of her chair into a dueling stance.

They paused for a second, grinning at each other, then Nimune charged and Abraxas’ danced away. He taunted her and she slashed and stabbed at him, and he sidestepped and parried away her blows. Nimune was laughing now, and Abraxas kept grinning.

“What in the name of Merlin is going on here?”

Abraxas looked up startled at his mother, who had entered the room silently, but Nimune did not hesitate and slashed him across the stomach. Abraxas looked down, surprised at the attack, and saw Nimune’s pleased expression. He rolled his eyes and collapsed onto his knees on the floor. “Ooof! My guts! My gu-uts. You have killed me. I am dying.” Nimune giggled.

“Congratulations, darling. You’ve committed fratricide.” Nimune looked up into the face of her mother, Dwynwen, and smiled widely, showing off a missing canine baby tooth.

Her expression turned fierce, and she pointed her sword at her brother who was preoccupied amidst the throws of mock agony. “If you tell me the truth, I shall put you out of your misery!”

“The truth?” Abraxas’ brow furrowed in confusion.

“Who did you lie to at the New Year’s Eve Ball?”

Abraxas smiled and rolled his eyes, “Carrow, of course. Simply trying to be polite, even through grit teeth. You’ll have to learn how to as well, someday.”

He bounded up off the floor and straightened his robes. “Well fought sister.” They clasped hands.

Nimune smiled mischievously. “It was a pleasure to defeat you brother!” She chirped and made her way back into her chair. Her mother was now seated as well, next to her at the table.

Abraxas’ transfigured their swords back into silverware and shrugged apologetically at his mother’s baleful glare.

“What was that about?” Dwynwen Malfoy asked, after she had called an elf for water and to ask about the preparations for lunch.

“Abraxas is a liar. I found out and then we crossed swords. Also, do you know if Eilonwy will be home for the party?”

“Which party would that be, darling?” She asked, eyebrow raised.

“The spring equinox! The big party! Abraxas told me all about it! He said I could go—we have to go!” She waved her arms around in the air, then settled. “And Eilonwy should come.” Nimune pouted, blue eyes wide and pleading.

Their mother smiled, blue eyes twinkling, then she frowned, displeased. “Hogwarts _Easter_ break isn’t until the week after. Your father and the rest of the school governors had been fighting against Dumbledore about the scheduling for years.”

“What’s that dear? Who am I fighting?” Elaios Malfoy swept in with flowing sky blue and silver robes. He kissed his daughter on the forehead and his wife on the cheek, then took his seat at the head of the table.

“Albus, about the spring holiday at Hogwarts.” Dwynwen reminded him before she snapped her fingers and summoned their starter: beef tartar, with a smoked egg yolk and shallots, served with rustic rye bread.

Abraxas and Nimune cheerfully dug in as Elaios spoke thoughtfully, “We did disagree on that, yes. I imagine this would be an opportunity to do something about it, though it is a bit gauche with the timing. Why are you asking?” Elaios was puzzled, but he was also starting to realize all the things the Board of Governor’s had fought with Albus Dumbledore about, as Headmaster Dippet had a _laissez faire_ attitude towards the management of Hogwarts and left much to his Deputy, and how much change could be possible now with the man dead. It was not a nice thought, but it was business.

“Eilonwy should be able to come to the party!” Nimune cried, and pouted at her father who smiled at her, uncomprehending.

“We are having a public spring equinox celebration at Woodhenge this year. I told Nimune about it a few days ago. I thought I mentioned last week…?” Abraxas trailed off, bidding them to remember.

“I may recall. This is you and Tom Riddle?” Elaios asked.

“And all the Blacks, Geraint, Avery, and the group yes. We have invited everyone we can think of. Tom will do a protection ritual, but the entire day will be games and magic and feasting.” He looked bashful and averted his eyes, “I may have volunteered some of our elves to help with the food, if that’s alright?”

His mother gave him a fond, exasperated look. As she summoned the mains, she said, “I suppose we won’t be needing them if we're all going to be there as well. I quite like the idea. Geraint will be there? I’ll have to owl Cynog and Arthen to make sure the whole family will be there.”

Elaios sighed, “I suppose I can try to push for a date change, or even just the day off. It’s awfully close to attempt to shift the whole week of break, people probably have plans and such.”

Abraxas paused eating his poached trout with white wine sauce, caviar, chard and cucumber and suggested, “Why don’t you suggest an extra week off? They are back-to-back this year, and I imagine the students and professors would not mind the interruption. It’s probably a harsh environment to focus in right now at the school.”

Elaios waggled his fork at his son while he chewed. “That’s true,” he swallowed. “We don’t have to solve the whole problem this year.” He shrugged and loaded up his fork. “And if they don’t take to it, we’ll just pull Eilonwy out of school for the day for a family gathering, it’s not unheard of.”

Abraxas smiled and Nimune cheered, throwing her fist up into the air and smacking her knees on the table, making the glassware and china rattle.

\--- 

 

**Rose Hall, Abergele, Conwy, Clwyd, Wales**

**Saturday, March 9th, 1945, Noon**

Rose Hall was built in 1785, and after a few generations of absent-minded Rosiers in charge of it, the red brick chateau had an air of malevolence. Ivy clung to the masonry and imposing, moss-covered Sessile Oaks looked like sentries around the grounds. They cast large swaths of the park into shade, and many winding walks had been spun around them. The south end of the park was bordered by the River Elwy, and the bank was dominated by large White Willows and Alder Buckthorn. Geraint had first felt magic on the grounds when he was a child, and after some unwise investigation, had been flooded with the wild magic and sensory information from the trees and the land. It could have killed him to reach out his magic at such an immature age, with such an underdeveloped magical core, but he had been mostly unharmed, though dazed. His father had been overjoyed with the connection. His mother had been fearful of it, and later, him.

In a sunny patch decently far from the groves of oak trees sat several large greenhouses, the white paint of the wood panels peeling. Ivy and moss grew on the walls but had been cleared away from the roof. Geraint had spent his Saturday morning inside, switching between tending his plants and working on plans for Professor Beery’s defensive fortifications. He was watering now, and he let his mind wander. When he was little, his mother’s fear had affected him—made him ashamed to know what the trees were feeling, as if there was something wrong with his unique magic. When his mother was pregnant with his little sister, tensions were high between his parents, partially because of Geraint's talent, which was much more pronounced than even Cynog expected from his own magic, but also because Blodeuwedd had wanted to move out of the Welsh countryside, to somewhere more populated where she could have company and partake in society. Cynog refused to raise Rosier children anywhere but at Rose Hall and would not hear of it. When Eiluned Rosier had been born in 1934 happy, healthy, and bursting with conventional magic, albeit overpowered, Blodeuwedd Rosier had left. She could not handle another strange powerful child, she could not live another day in the isolated chateau, and so, Cynog was left to raise the children alone.

Geraint had come to understand his connection better now. His father had trained him, bought him books, and hired the same tutors Cynog had when he was learning. He had made the connection early, at the tender age of four, and as a result had been able to dedicate his entire life to the study. He was an extraordinarily strong hedgewizard. He had a metaphysical and magical connection with plant life, specifically old, indigenous plants who, in turn, had a deep connection with the magic of the land. He smiled at that thought, the feeling of connectedness to wild magic, and fondly stroked the leaves of a fanged geranium, which purred at the contact.

Sometimes hedgewizards connections were not so strong that they could be rightfully acknowledged. Pomona Sprout had the connection, but it had not been nurtured and fostered. She did not have the appropriate training in meditation to accompany her skill in herbology to connect with wild magic and let loose. Most of the best herbologists had a magical connection with wild magic and were technically minor hedgewizards, though that knowledge was fading from the public view, some muggle-influenced wizards even going so far as to vilify it as arcane or occult, as if the ways magic was practiced in the past was somehow incongruent with the world today.  Geraint thought it was tragic, and it felt like a personal blow whenever someone was fearful of the ancient magic. That was one of the things he liked best about being friends with Tom Riddle: the minute he understood Geraint’s special branch of magic, he appreciated it, and encouraged Geraint to master it. If anyone ever dared depreciate any esoteric branches of magic, they faced Tom’s wrath. It was a good feeling. Unfortunately, Tom did not tolerate his absentmindedness near as well, but that was not so detrimental to his emotional state.

Geraint had been encouraged by Tom to get his Mastery in Herbology, so that he could be qualified for various contracted work, according to the laws of the Ministry. He was about to do so, over a year early, provided the protection detail worked out at Hogwarts. Luckily, he was able to apprentice under his own father, as the Herbologists Guild understood the usefulness of family magic in the case of hedgewizards.

He was well ahead of his studies and had passed his first round of examinations while still a seventh year at Hogwarts, writing his first-year apprenticeship thesis on weaponized plants, specifically fruiting trees. He took his B.A.T.s early, just last September, and now he had been handed a large-scale case study to finish his dissertation.

Professor Beery had sent him a letter that morning discussing the response from Headmaster Dippet and his plans to talk to the Board of Governors.  Geraint had been quick to formulate some sketches based on his knowledge of the trees within the Forbidden Forest. He would surely have to visit the forest again, take Artemis with him so he could avoid dealing with Centaurs and creatures.

He had looped through two greenhouses watering the plants that had need of it, and was just finishing when his father came in. Geraint scrutinized him, but nothing seemed amiss. Geraint worried when his father worried, he felt horrible when it seemed his father was subjected to undue stress on his account. Cynog Rosier was 48 years old, but he looked a bit older and wearier than he ought. His strawberry-blonde hair was full and without greys, as was normal for wizards of his age, but his face had lines of worry and tension, which contrasted with his cheery disposition.

“Did Professor Beery send you a letter too? He told me he would.” Geraint asked, stowing his wand in his arm holster after shaking droplets of water from it.

“Yes, he did, _exceedingly early_ this morning. Herbert seemed incredibly pleased at the idea of us working together. Hedgewizards, of various skills, building a massive castle defensive fortification. It’s great advertising for him, of course, trying to get kids to stick with Herbology.” Cynog winked at him, and Geraint rolled his eyes. “It just needs the rest of the Board of Governors’ approval besides me and Harfang. Elaios will go for it if I ask, I’m sure, and me and Lycoris are on quite good terms.” Cynog frowned, “Fenwick has been opposing seemingly everything lately,” he sighed. “We’ll see how it goes. A plea directly from Herbert should be enough to convince most of the others, and everyone is always quick to stay on Elaios’ good side.”

Geraint smiled, people were in awe of Elaios Malfoy, and it was odd to see the cheerful man manipulate those around him. Which reminded him, “Is Eiluned at the Malfoy’s? I haven’t seen her today.” Geraint asked, squinting through the mossy glass at the house.

Cynog laughed, “No, she’s at Arthen’s. She and Marged were here yesterday morning screaming about a slumber party. She will be there until tomorrow. I’ll probably have to take them with us on Monday, they’ll have fun seeing the school a year early.” They smiled together, the girls would lose their minds given an opportunity to visit Hogwarts.

The expression on Cynog’s face turned solemn. “I wanted to put forth an idea with you, I might not go forward with it, but I wanted to ask if you’d be interested working together on it.”

Geraint focused on his father and frowned. “What is it?”

Cynog looked towards to ceiling, at a Strangle-Ivy that was wrapping up a mossy support pole and sighed again. “The Ministry has reformed the War Department, they announced as such today at the Wizengamont meeting, your grandfather was just in the floo telling me about it.” He paused, and Geraint gestured for him to continue. “Well I was thinking that we… I might talk to Belvina Burke about… enlisting. As a hedgewizard. It’s a defensive role, not really that dangerous, no more dangerous than working with the plants around here, surely, and Eiluned will be off at Hogwarts in September, and I will not be needed around here as much, and-“ He saw Geraint’s wide eyes and stalled. “And, and. And I was wondering if you wanted to do it with me. You are by far the more powerful wizard Geraint, and as nauseating as this is to say, I think Britain will be much safer if we do this together. I’ve been thinking about it ever since Herbert mailed me the letter this morning.”

Geraint just stared at his father, mouth open in shock. He blinked, and then nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. But if we do this-“ Geraint caught his father’s eyes, “We do not hide that it is hedgewizardry. That it is old magic what we do, that it is special. If they want to appreciate what we can do for their safety, they can appreciate it for what it is.”

Cynog’s heart crumpled at Geraint’s plea. “Of course, son, we’ll be sure to make them know.”

\--- 

 

**Number 6, Provinch Alley, London, England  
Saturday, March 9th, 1945, 2:15 p.m.**

Tom was carefully carving Anglo-Saxon Futhorc runes into beeswax candles. Futhorc was very uncommon, especially compared to Elder and Younger Futhark, but Tom had always found they worked better for him when conducting rituals. It was hard to study Futhorc as the resources on it were limited, but Professor Lhwyd had encouraged him to continue using it when he had shown great promise with it during a unit on different runic structures in sixth year. When he had combined it with his pyromancy work in NEWT Divination, it had again proven to work better than traditional Futhark runes.

Divination was something that Tom had ample respect for, though he rarely practiced it. Initially, he had been dubious and skeptic, especially given the way most of the upper-class Slytherins scorned it. In third year, Professor Vblatsky had started teaching them about the major types of divination, although necromancy, or communication with the spirits of the dead, was expressly prohibited. They learned the history of various methods, Geomancy traditions in the Near East, the usage of Hydromancy was taught on the shores of the Black Lake, Aeromancy was described and Nephomancy was practiced on any day that the clouds were visible. Symbol and pattern recognition were taught for the first half year, and then honed during a six-week unit on palmistry. Tom was amazed at the usefulness of divination after that. Practicing his palm reading with his friends had improved the group’s dynamics, as they began to understand each other better. Tom was pleased with divination and thought it useful up until they learned about pyromancy for fifth year.

Pyromancy, or divination by fire, was a unique talent of Tom’s. Whereas the other branches sometimes proved to be true after the fact, or led to unique insights about people’s characters, the magic behind pyromancy connected with Tom on a deeper level. He understood his insights better, he knew what was being shown was true. He still was not always correct in his interpretations, but it was just that, his interpretations. The flame was never false, but he did not always read it correctly.

Unfortunately, as he discovered fifth year while preparing for OWLs, his pyromancy practice only worked well when he was in possession of any and all horcruxes he had made. Something about not having an entire soul made his future hazy, and the candles burned oddly.

Tom usually only practiced pyromancy during festival days, as part of the ritual celebrations, and carefully kept the practice general, not tied to him specifically. He spent much of his time learning about dark magics, immortality, increasing his power, blood magic, necromancy, obscure curses and old magics, seasonal rituals and ancient practices, long precise rites and runic focusing circles. With those research interests on top of general dueling and work, socializing with his colleagues, and plotting, he had neglected the useful practice of divination. He also never felt the draw to do it, sometimes there were simply no signs magic wanted to convey, no warnings that needed to be heard. Today was different though, he felt restless and uneasy. He just could not shake the feeling that this was important, that he needed to know more about the political tumult at hand. Thus, candles.

He looked up from his carving at the sound of tapping on his window, and carefully put his tools aside to collect it. The eagle owl was large and imposing, dark black and brown feathers, with twin black tufted ears. It looked at Tom with dark amber eyes and hooted softly. Tom summoned an owl treat and took the letter, after which the owl turned and gracefully swooped out the open window. He flipped the letter over and saw the Black family seal and opened it to find a missive done in Lucretia Black’s elegant handwriting.

Tom—

I talked to Walburga about the meeting tomorrow and your intentions about dueling practice, and she said you invited Alphard along to duel as well! He is quite excited, apparently. Adorable.

_Because of this, and the impending war, I figured it would be best for all of those of our mutual acquaintance to brush up on dueling in general, as our lives will soon depend on it, or whatever bleak thing you might have to say about it. As a result, I am planning a dueling tournament, arranging the brackets, ordering the food with dear Edward, finding an appropriate prize, figuring who all should be invited, contacting Greengrass to serve as Magi-Medic, et cetera._

_Dear Ignatius will be bringing his brother and sister-in-law, and beyond that it will be the normal group, your year-mates, my year-mates, many of the people present on Friday evening, though a significantly younger set. Maybe some of those from the other houses if we can get them. I’m expecting forty competitors, double elimination bracket, unless you want it to start off with team duels? There will be many more attendees as well, and the weather will be good tomorrow so the competition will be outside. Erwan will create the dueling rings and stands for me I’m sure. Edward could hardly speak he was so excited about the idea when I fire-called him just now! We can also have mini-games with sword-fighting an obstacle course. Artemis always seems to have a Boggart lying around so I will petition her to bring one. Or perhaps some other dangerous creatures, although I’m sure we won’t be able to do harm to them. I’m going to go ahead with this, let me know if you don’t want me to although I’ll have you notice that I am having Edgar leave straightaway. If you must contest me on this, you can reach me by floo from 2:30 until 3:20 pm today otherwise I’ll be busy helping mother prepare for dinner. Alright? Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow!_

_Cheerio darling!_

_Lucretia Caroline Black_

He huffed as he read her missive. He did not like the idea that his clandestine planning meeting had suddenly become a massive event, especially so soon after the meeting last night, but this would include a different subset of wizards and witches and would serve well to gauge how prepared the magicals of their age were for battle. Lucretia was well-equipped to plan a tournament, given her profession and organizational skills, so Tom figured he would simply prepare for the discussion with his closest followers, and assuredly decimate the competition at the tournament. He put it out of his mind as he finished carving his runes.

He arranged the 33 runic candles in three tiers of eleven in a semicircle around an open spot on the floor. The prime numbers added additional strength to the divination ritual, being more magically powerful numbers, and the arrangement helped ensure he would be able to see them all at once.

Tom sat down on the floor and _accio-ed_ the diary, which he then placed on his lap. He checked to make sure the Peverell ring was situated on his finger properly, then closed his eyes to focus his magic. When he was ready, he waved his yew wand and summoned 33 tiny globes of fire, which he then sent towards the wicks of the candle. Focusing his magic again, and watching the candles closely, he spoke aloud to the empty room: “Where will my success be greatest?”

Instantly, several wicks extinguished— _Feoh_ for Wealth, _Is_ for Patience, _Lagu_ for Emotions. These were telling, and not good signs for Tom. Several did not change at all, signifying nothing. Yet a few burned higher and danced merrily _Eaoh_ : The Yew Tree, signifying life, and the magic of the earth; _Eoh_ : The Horse, signifying swiftness and teamwork; _Geofu_ , the Gift, which made Tom’s face heat with an uncharacteristic blush, signifying new love and goodness in general. But burning cleaner and brighter than the others was the flame for _Gar_ , the spear, which represented Mastery of skill and balance within oneself, victory through skill in the heat of battle.

Tom looked at the candles until he noticed nothing new from their changes, then stopped the flow of magic from his body. Instantly the candles which were still lit calmed to neutral and flickered calmly with the airflow in the room.

He blinked and shook his head, clearing it and simultaneously storing the memory to look over later.

 _*Good signs Tom? Or bad omens?*_ Nathair asked, curled up on his heated rock by the room’s window.

Tom stretched his neck and flexed his shoulder-blades back. _*Both, my emotions will become a problem apparently.*_ He could see that, he did not seem to possess the same stability in emotions as he used to be, it took a fair amount of discipline to keep himself in check. The diary and ring felt uncomfortably heavy at the thought.

 _*I will prove successful using old magic, teamwork, in battle, and in love… apparently.*_ Tom said to Nathair, who perked up at the third point. _*You have a nest-mate? Why have I not met them? I should have a say in who helps hatch your snakelets.*_ Tom glared at the snake and refocused his magic in preparation for a second casting, he could feel the drain already, hopefully he had enough energy for a third. _*You know I do not. Now hush.*_ Nathair made a hissy sort of grumble but stayed silent.

Tom lit the candles again, and asked, with the same level of magical focus as before: “What could cause harm to myself and my followers?” With the rush of magic, he knew instantly that there would be no third question, and he fought to hold the threads of magic constant as he observed the flames again.

 _Th_ , the Thorn, burned brightly, unpredictability and chaos as well as a gain with an unknown cost. _Ior_ , the sea serpent, representing split life or an absence of balance, this one burned brightly, but also split into two flames along the candle wick with separate peaks flaring in different directions. Two bad signs with dissimilar sources in the same theme. _Damnit_ that would be complicate to figure out. _Stan_ , the Stone, an insurmountable obstruction, or a blocked path. That was not good either, Tom had _many_ plans any one of which could be thwarted forever, leaving him adrift. _Peorth_ , representing secrets and mysteries burned darkly, releasing smoke into the air at a quick pace. Tom stared at it, hoping to see something in the flame or the smoke that may allow the sign to be more useful, but he was distracted by the flare-up of a candle burning brightly next to it. _Cweorth_ , representing fire, the Phoenix, was flickering and sputtering, affecting the candles near it, and mixing ashy smoke with the already ominous smoke of _Peorth_. Tom could feel his magic draining and took in the last two candles that he had yet to observe: _Daeg_ , the Day, which could justifiably be taken to mean a threat from those wielding Light Magic, and _Ear_ , the Earth, the symbol of Death and the grave. The end of things.

Tom stared at the candle for a minute, oblivious to the dangerous draw on his magic. He had _fixed_ his worries with mortality. He had _two_ Horcruxes, three soul fragments! It should be the most stable formation possible. He should be immortal, _damnit_! He tried to think rationally for a moment, about how it could be metaphorical, or the death of someone close to him, but that did not _feel_ right. He could not focus enough to understand it, his brain felt fuzzy and the fear of death was making his heart race and his palms clammy.

 _*Tom! The candles! Are you okay? Put them out!*_ Tom snapped out of his panic and saw that the candles were flickering wildly, coordinated with his erratic heartbeat. He cut the magic off and abruptly felt it rush back to him, along with an immediate, bone-deep exhaustion. He looked at his snake, who had slithered up to him, butting him on the arm with his snout, and hissed, _*Thank you, Nathair. I was… It was not good. I need to lay down, I think.*_

The snake backed off for a moment as Tom got up and waved his wand to put out the remaining candles. He walked a few steps across the room and collapsed on his bed in the corner.

Tom passed out quickly, aware only of the warm snake sitting on his chest, staring at his face with justifiable concern.

 ---

 

**Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England  
Saturday, March 9th, 1945, 5:45 p.m.**

“ORION!” Melania Black neé MacMillan’s voice echoed through Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the London seat of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Orion leaned over the first-floor balcony to see her standing in the grand open entryway.

“Yes Mother?” Orion said as he arranged the belt on his black silk tunic, forgoing robes for the moment to deal with the preparations for dinner.

“Tell your grandparents to come down, they need to be ready to greet everyone before people start arriving!” Orion nodded at her and she smiled, blue eyes twinkling and tight, blond finger-curls shining from the chandelier above.

Orion turned around and walked a few paces from the stairs to the short hallway that housed the first-floor suite. He paused at the door and rapped on it with the back of his knuckles, “Grandfather? Grandmother?”

“Come in, lad!” His grandmother, Hesper Black neé Gamp, said, muffled through the heavy door. Orion walked in and saw his grandfather fixing cufflinks while his grandmother clasped the back onto a heavy golden earring. “How do we look, darling?”

Orion reached for her hand and kissed the back of it. “Beautiful, grandmother,” he said, smiling.

“What’s Mel want then, Orion?” His grandfather said, brusquely. Orion straightened and carefully let go of his grandmother’s hand. “She wanted to see if you’re ready to come down to the entryway, to greet the family as they arrive, and that I should assist you.”

Sirius nodded and made to move them all towards the stair, but stopped and said, “We can make it down fine lad, go put on a proper robe for dinner. You look like a bloody medieval squire.” Orion blushed and his grandmother glared at Sirius. “Of course, sir,” he said as he bowed quickly before he bounded out the door and up to the third floor to his room, hearing the faint sound of his grandmother smacking his grandfather on the arm. “No need to be so rude, Sirius!”

He rummaged through his closet and pulled out a fine black robe meant to be worn open and loose over a fitted tunic and threw it on. Just as he was checking his reflection, a knock came at the door. Turning, he saw the lovely face of his betrothed. “Waly! You look beautiful, as always!” He strode over to her and looked down into her eyes—hers were a slightly darker grey than his, though they sparked just as brightly, her hair was straight compared to his black curls, piled upon her head in an elegant bun, a small strip of it braided in a band above her fringe. She smiled, and Orion’s pale face flushed. “Orion!” She mimicked, and Orion flushed deeper. “Oh, you silly thing, it is lovely to see you again, dearest.” She laughed and then held out her hand. He held it gently, turned it over and kissed her wrist, right at the edge of her palm. She blushed now as well, and they stared at each other for a moment.

CRACK! Walburga jumped, and Orion steadied her, not even slightly surprised by the familiar cracking of Kreacher, the house elf.

“Mistress wants Master Orion and Miss Walburga to quit making deer eyes at each other and review the menu for the dinner tonight.” He said, gravelly and tonelessly, rolling his eyes when they dropped each other’s hands at the comment about their flirting. Sighing, knowing that this was another element of their training to become the future heads of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, they agreed, and went to oversee the other house-elves cooking their many courses.

\--- 

 

Alphard brushed the floo powder off his robes helped his grandmother Violetta through the floo. She was young, still, for a witch, but years of abusing dark magic to cast petty curses on everyone around her had taken their toll. Her skin was waxy and oddly puffy, and she smelled odd, like something rancid masked with expensive Parisian perfume. With Cygnus dead, she was deteriorating fast, and Alphard tried his best to avoid her, partially because she was so unnerving to look at, but also because she was a massive bitch.

“Let go of me, boy. I can walk fine.” She spat as she straightened up. Alphard held in a sigh but said nothing. With another bright flash, Pollux and Irma fell out of the floo together. Pollux was already sweating, looking strung-out and jittery, and his mother Irma had a vapid smile on her face, and was giggling. “Ah Ha! Pollux darling, I told you it would be fun to floo together. Let us go greet your stuffy uncle and then we can have some of Arty’s best schnapps.” She grabbed his hand and pushed past Alphard, who followed behind them, trying to appear extra composed to make up for his parents. He could hear the biting remark from Grand-Uncle Sirius and saw him greeting a flustered Pollux and indifferent Irma coldly. Violetta was saying something to an offended looking Grand-Aunt Hesper, and Alphard thought it best to intervene.

“Hello Grand-Uncle, Grand-Aunt. Lovely to see you again!” He said, louder than necessary, and gave a quick bow. Sirius eyes landed on him and they lost some of their anger. “Alphard! Wonderful to see you boy. How were things at the Wizengamont today then? Pollux was just telling me how eager you were to go on your own today, spread your wings I think he said?” Pollux looked constipated and turned bright red. Alphard cringed internally but kept a smooth mask of polite affability on his face, “It was interesting, a friend of mine sat with me, we kept up delightful commentary. Grand-Aunt Belvina got appointed Director of the War Department.” Pollux looked blindsided by that, but Hesper and Sirius nodded cheerfully. Hesper clapped her hands in delight, “We did hear! She _flooed_ us this afternoon. I am so delighted, me and darling Sirius have a gift for her, to celebrate!” Sirius nodded, then asked, “Anything else interesting, lad?”

Alphard paused a moment, the said, “Some of the more fanatical light wizards seemed furious about her appointment, as well as Rodina Moody as MAF Commander.” He paused, and caught Hesper’s eye, “Seemed like sexism at it’s finest.” Her eyes narrowed at him, before glaring at Pollux when he made an outraged huff. He said nothing under the force of her glare, though he looked like he dearly wanted to say _something_ about the failings of the ‘fairer sex.’

Alphard continued quickly, “Elphias Doge gave an impromptu eulogy for Professor Dumbledore, and that was about it. It seemed like committee meetings were happening into the afternoon, but I don’t sit on those for Pollux, so I left then.”

Pollux suffered under another glare, and Sirius looked like he was going to disparage him again before Arcturus Black II, his wife Lysandra Black neé Yaxley, and their one daughter that still lived at home, Cedrella, swept into the grand entryway. Pollux, Irma, and Violetta snuck off to the drawing room, presumably to drink some of ‘Arty’s best schnapps.’

Alphard grabbed onto Cedrella’s hand after she curtsied pleasantly under the disapproving eye of her Uncle Sirius and the pleasant gaze of Aunt Hesper and pulled her towards the dining room. “Not that I don’t appreciate you getting me away from my father, who disapproves wholly of all that I am and stand for, but where are we going?” He glanced back at her, “To find Orion, or anyone else who is a bit younger and less….” He waved his other hand in the air, at a loss. “Volatile?” Cedrella suggested. Alphard smiled and nodded, they looked in the dining room and saw nothing, but they did find Orion and Walburga in the serving room within it, where the first course was being set up by two grumbling, old house-elves.

“Why are you hiding in here, sister?” Alphard asked Walburga, eyebrow raised. She lifted her nose in the air and said snootily, “Melania wanted us to oversee the dinner preparations, as part of our…” She lost her airs as Orion began to giggle, she elbowed him in the stomach causing him to gasp in pain as she finished, “training. As the future heads of the-“ “Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.” Orion, Alphard, and Cedrella chorused, cutting her off. She pouted, “yes, that.” She paused, then in a rush, “the-most-ancient-and-noble-house-of-black.” They all laughed, and Walburga blushed.

Orion turned to Alphard and asked, “Is Lucretia back yet?” Alphard’s eyebrows rose, “No? Back from where?” Cedrella rolled her eyes, and Orion looked confused, “To pick up Ignatius, of course. She does every week.” Alphard flushed, “Oh, of course. Hey,” he turned to Cedrella, “How come Lucretia can bring Iggy but you can’t bring—” Cedrella clasped her hand over his mouth and glared at him. “You great idiot Alphie. If someone even so much as mentions any Weasley, father will rage for hours. Imagine if I brought him here? They might even hurt him! They’re crazy!” Alphard could not imagine, because he could not breathe. Cedrella had covered his nose and mouth and he gazed, wide-eyed at his sister to help him. “Cedrella, let him go! You’re suffocating him, you loon!” Walburga whispered loudly, as she and Orion pulled Cedrella away.

Cedrella looked mortified. “Oh Merlin, Alphie! I am _so_ sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She looked down at the floor, ashamed. Alphard caught his breath, then, with a scratchy voice, joked, “Black family madness?” Orion barked a laugh and Walburga cackled, Cedrella smirked. “Must be, come on.” She forced some cheerfulness into her expression, “Let us make drinks and see who else is here. Maybe Cassie brought her idiot boytoy again.”

\--- 

 

Callidora had arrived with Harfang Longbottom, and their youngest, Thisbe. They were talking to Arcturus II and Lysandra. Thisbe was gazing up in horrified fascination at the dangerous trinkets on the end tables and the dreary landscapes on the wall. Walburga smirked at her, and Thisbe smirked right back. The little Longbottom was much more of a Black than her brother Richard.

Charis and Caspar Crouch were nearby, talking to Tristan Burke, a son of Belvina and Herbert’s. Walburga barely spared them a glance, they were all a bit rude, and six-year-old Bartholomeus (Don’t Call me Barty!) Crouch looked like he would rather be anywhere but there. They had a nanny-elf following them, holding infant Thais Crouch, and leading the newly walking Lilith by the hand. If Lucretia were back, she would have grabbed Thais instantly, so she must still be out gathering Iggy.

Aunt Cassiopeia had indeed arrived, without the idiot boy-toy, and was talking to Orion’s parents and his uncle Regulus and Regulus’s boyfriend, the forensic potioneer, Fenton Marsh. Alphard eagerly dragged their group over to Regulus and Fenton, greeted them cheerfully and quickly fell into discussion, ignoring his poor sister and cousins. Aunt Cassie grabbed Cedrella and, from the looks of it, began quietly discussing something dreadfully embarrassing and personal as Cedrella’s face reddened. Walburga smirked at her direction, and Cedrella glared balefully back at her. Orion took her hand, and nodded towards his parents, “I think father wants to talk to us.”

Arcturus did want to talk, telling Orion and Walburga that they were expected to attend Professor Dumbledore’s funeral on Tuesday, as the Heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black and his intended, along with Arcturus and Melania, and Sirius and Hesper. Orion listened dutifully to the details as Walburga discretely observed the room. Aunt Dorea had arrived, blank mask on her face as she spoke to her brother Pollux, Charlus, looked livid next to her, brown skin flushed in anger. Aunt Cassie had finished with Cedrella and swooped in to give Pollux a good scathing and to save her sister and brother-in-law from his drunken (he can’t have been here more than 20 minutes!) tirade.

“What about you Walburga? Any luck?” She heard Melania ask. She quickly turned back to the conversation, “Pardon?”

Melania smiled, revealing fetching dimples on her cheeks. “Orion was saying how he was helping out with some warding with Tom Riddle, as practice for his mastery. I was wondering if you had any luck yet finding a position with your Mastery in Magical History?”

Walburga sighed heavily. “Me and Edward Nott do commissions sometimes, researching specific topics for people who will pay, sometimes Caractacus Burke has something that needs a history written up. And of course, I’ve got my own research in Gaelic traditions and I work with Riddle on his ritual magic.” Melania nodded, and smiled. Walburga continued, “But the Ministry records department doesn’t do work that’s very deep, and there haven’t been new postings on the Wizarding Examination Authority for almost ten years.” She signed again, “And with Binns at Hogwarts forever, I think I’ll be stuck with commissions.” Melania patted her on the shoulder while Arcturus looked pensive. “Would you be able to teach all seven years of History of Magic?” he asked. Walburga scoffed, “I’ve got outlines and lesson plans for an entire new curriculum for History of Magic! All seven years! Easy.” Arcturus shared a surprised glance with Melania. “Why do you have all that?” Walburga pouted and looked away, “Because I brought it all to Hogwarts last spring to show Headmaster Dippet, he looked interested until Dumbledore went on about Binns being a tradition, and what would poor Cuthbert do without a job and all that. And then Dippet just did whatever Dumbledore said.” Walburga looked uncharacteristically close to tears, and Orion grabbed her hand, rubbing circles into the back of it with his thumb. Walburga huffed a wet laugh, “If I didn’t despise tiny children so much, I’d think of having a class in history for the lower levels. You know, children of prominent pureblood families?” Orion nodded and smiled at her. “It would help them prepare for their OWLSs at any rate.”

“What’s that? Primary school history! How exciting!” Lycoris Black nudged in, shoving her brother Arcturus to the side into a laughing Melania. Lycoris smiled at her, “I’ve been suggesting it to the _Board of Governors_ ” she glared at Arcturus who held up his hands and quietly said, “I’m on your side!” she ignored him, “and my department for years. They think that just because I am on the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad means that I cannot have anything of value to say to the Department of Magical Education, not that there’s anyone really to say anything to! That department is comprised of the examining authority and one secretary, I’m convinced nobody else works there!” She was huffing in her fury now, and her wife Sabine patted her on the shoulder and said in a melodious French accent, “There, there, darling. You are right, of course. But you are scaring poor Basile!” She gestured at a gangly boy next to her, who waved happily at Lycoris, anything but scared. Basile Vaisey was the youngest of Sabine Vaisey’s three children from her first marriage to the no-good-foul Amand Loup de Vignerot. Sabrina, 11, and Alphonse, 13, were off at Hogwarts, far, far away from France.

Lycoris smiled at Basile, then said to the others, “At any rate. I know you are not fond of Muggleborns,” Arcturus and Walburga scowled, but Melania held on to her cheerful expression. Poor Orion just looked confused. Lycoris continued, “But some early schooling would do them good, based on what I see at work.” She held her hands up in surrender, “That’s all I’m saying!” She grabbed a glass of wine from a tray held aloft by an elf and wrapped her arm around Sabine, “I need to do the rounds, terrify Irma with my homosexuality, you know the drill!” Sabine’s laughter tinkled merrily as she went off as well, Basile cutting away in a beeline towards Thisbe Longbottom, before they then ran off together cackling towards the drawing room.

Walburga shared a glance with Orion and whispered into his ear, “I think Tom would like to know about Lycoris’ idea, you remember how outraged he was realizing we had all been able to learn magic at home before Hogwarts and over the summers.” Orion’s cheeriness abated slightly as he nodded. Walburga grabbed his hand again, “Let’s go greet the Burkes and congratulate Belvina, they’re over there with Lucretia and Ignatius.” She pointed towards a large group of people trying to exit the floo parlor, Belvina and Herbert Burke, their son Galahad and his family, their daughter Morgan, and her grim looking, androgynous guest.

Orion smiled, relieved that Lucretia was finally back, and pleased to hopefully talk about something less serious than Tom’s childhood fury, and they walked over together.

 ---

 

Dorea grabbed Alphard and backed him and Cassiopeia into a shadowy corner of the library. “Charlus keep watch!” she whispered harshly at her husband, who saluted her and mouthed “Aye, aye! Captain!” She rolled her eyes and pulled an envelope out of her robe pocket. Alphard looked at her with interest and Cassie looked furious. “What are you doing bringing that here!” Dorea just glared at her, and whispered, “I wouldn’t be doing it if it weren’t for a good reason! Look!” She shoved the fancy letterhead over to them, “Marius’s daughter is _magic_ Cassie! This is important!” Cassie simply looked shocked, so Alphard took the letter instead. He read it quickly. “What are you going to do?” Dorea shook her head, “Nothing yet, we need to plan this carefully, but if two squibs can have a magical child, like Marius and his wife did, that means something about our society is wrong. We need to fix the whole _system,_ not just within our family—”

“Ca-Caw!” came Charlus’ voice from by the door. Dorea grabbed her letter, face flushed with embarrassment and Charlus smiled cheekily. Cassiopeia had a book in her hands instantly and was saying loudly, “I think Cancer is a perfectly good name for the baby Dorea, wouldn’t that just be perfect? Cancer Chandrakant Potter, after his father. Maybe people will realize your name is not really Charlus, Charlus, with a son like that—”

Dorea shoved her, face red with fury. “Cancer! Why not Dragonpox Potter, or Spattegroit Potter?”

“Dragon Pox Potter sounds sort of neat?” Alphard offered, so Dorea turned her glare towards him.

“Seems appropriate, for how unseemly it is for the noble Black name to be tied so with the name of Potter.” Pollux spat, slinking in through the door. Charlus looked furious, and stood with his body in front of Dorea protectively as she started forward, “You’re a right bastard Pollux—”

“Pollux, darling brother.” Cassie stepped forward and glared into Pollux’s eyes. With her stiletto black boots, she was the same height as him, and with her gossamer black robes she looked like a dementor gliding through the air. The air seemed to freeze as well, which Dorea was amazed by before she saw Alphard surreptitiously waving his wand in a square, then a circle, repeatedly.

“If anyone is unseemly and a disgrace to the name of Black it would be you.” She continued, sneering. “Drunken, useless layabout. Father loved you most so you, what, automatically became the best of us?” She shoved him, “I think not.”

“You can’t talk to me like—”

“I think you’ll find I can talk to you any way I please. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” She straightened and smiled. “See you in a few moments for dinner, brother!” She shouted, cheerfully, then blasted him through the still-open library door with a mild _expulso_.

 ---

  
Lucretia was clutching baby Thais Crouch in her arms alternating between cooing at the baby and telling Callidora and Harfang about the dueling tournament when Pollux stumbled out of the library. She turned towards Ignatius and whispered as to not let the baby hear, “Is he drunk already? He’s only been here forty minutes!” Ignatius just shrugged and continued his cheerful conversation with Harfang.

Morgan Burke and her partner Ziv Prince approached. Ziv asked in a monotone, “I heard you’re having a tournament tomorrow.” Morgan smirked sharply, and Lucretia nodded. “I love to duel, it’s truly my greatest joy.” Ziv’s face was completely void of emotions, and Lucretia just nodded again in bewilderment as she clutched Thais tighter. “Besides the joy I get being with Morgan.” Morgan rested her head on Ziv’s shoulder and looked at Lucretia with smiling dark grey eyes. “So, we will see you at the tournament tomorrow. Edward Nott’s at eleven, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right?” Lucretia asked, now unsure of herself.

Ziv frowned and asked, suddenly aggressive, “Is it, or isn’t it the right time?”

Lucretia swallowed audibly and leaned backwards, “That’s the right time! Sorry!”

“Excellent.” Ziv said, then stalked away, Morgan followed before she looked back at them and waved mockingly.

Their group stood in silence for a moment before Galahad Burke bounded up with his wife Adeline Burke nee Montague. “Was that Morgan and Ziv just now? What a pair.” He smiled fondly at them, Ziv was now interrogating poor Kreacher, gesturing at his slightly grubby pillowcase, looking like a skinny menacing spider. Morgan just looked adoringly at Ziv, as Orion hustled over to intervene in defense of his elf.

Lucretia looked back at Galahad, “Oh?”

Galahad sighed happily and gave his wife a side-hug. “Oh yes! Morgan is so in love, it’s wonderful to see the change in her. She used to be so infuriating and cruel. But Ziv is so much more tactful, brought out the best in my baby sister. The kids love them together.” He gestured towards his brood of three, who were following Morgan and Ziv around like ducklings and giving Bartholomeus (Don’t Call Me Barty) Crouch a wide birth.

Lucretia’s eyes widened, and she decided to simply, forget, the whole encounter. The nanny-elf came up and took the baby, and she gave Ignatius a forlorn look. She turned back towards Galahad and said cheerfully, “I haven’t seen you in a while, what are you up to now?”

She listened as Galahad talked about his three children, Lance, who was eight and liked to collect bugs and his Grand-Uncle Caractacus, Elaine, who was six, who read books about fairy tales and held jousting tournaments with her pony, proclaiming herself ‘The Black Knight!’

Vivien, at three, was the least interesting, but managed to duplicate by magic countless replicas of her stuffed fox, Vixy, whenever she got too bored. Adeline looked proud and added extra details in as the stories went on endlessly. They had started to move towards the dining room when Galahad finally spoke about something other than his children. “I’m moving from the Aurors over to the War Department with mother. Some rank of officer, we don’t have the structure figured out yet. But it will be a lot of planning and organization still, I’ll need subordinates and we’ll need to get magicians enlisted. It’s going to be a logistical nightmare.”

Lucretia perked up at that and turned toward Ignatius, “That sounds just perfect for Tom, doesn’t it?”

Ignatius rolled his eyes, but Galahad just looked interested. Ignatius shared a glance with Lucretia, who urged him to speak, then said, “He’s just very well organized, friends with Orion. He had their whole year-group of Slytherin’s score the best OWLs in decades, and Alphard’s group, the year above them, did fantastic on their NEWTS the next year. He’s just got a presence, and he’s good at seeing everyone’s strengths and weaknesses.”

“He’s a fantastic dueler too!” Lucretia interjected, “You would see him if you came to the tournament tomorrow? Nott estate, at eleven. You don’t have to compete, but I’m organizing the whole thing and would simply _love_ if you could make it.” She smiled widely, and Ignatius grinned at Galahad’s blindsided expression.

He rubbed his chin, “I’ll see if we can make it, will there be things for the children to do?”

Lucretia hesitated, just a second, and then smiled. “Of course! Big event, of course there’s stuff for children. Mostly toy brooms with altitude regulators, but some other stuff too.” He smiled at her and left towards the dining room. She grabbed Ignatius’ sleeve to stop him from moving towards the food, “Iggy!! What am I going to have _kids_ do during a _dueling tournament!?_ ”

 

 ---

 

In the dining room, Sirius Black headed the table, Hesper, Arcturus III, and Melania on one side, Arcturus and Lysandra, Violetta, Belvina and Herbert on the other. At the far end sat the youngest and most distantly related to Sirius and Hesper, and in between were all the various cousins and spouses. At a small table in the corner sat the young children, toddlers, and baby Thais Crouch with her nanny-elf. All Alphard could hear from that faction was Basile Vaisey’s tinkling laughter and a faint “Don’t call me Barty!”

Melania made a signal towards the elf at the serving room door, and instantly starters appeared in front of everyone. Alphard dug in, listening to the various discussions around him. Pollux was gleefully discussing the death of Albus Dumbledore with Violetta and Irma. Tristan Burke looked like he desperately wanted to join in, but he was too far away nestled next to Charis and Caspar Crouch, and the blank faced Ziv Prince. Morgan Burke was chattering animatedly at Ziv who watched her attentively, pointing at various older family members and giggling deviously. Lycoris, Sabine Vaisey, Regulus and Fenton Marsh were having an animated discussion about the Ministry and Belvina’s appointment as Director of the War Department, and Belvina added a few comments from across the table. Lucretia was having a hurried conversation under her breath with Ignatius, and Dorea was still glaring daggers at Pollux. Charlus seemed to have recovered and was chatting with Galahad and Adeline Burke.

After the first course, Grand-Uncle Sirius stood, and a hush fell over the family.

“One of our number has been bestowed a great honor,” He started, his voice deep and gravelly. He gestured towards Belvina, “My sister, who has worked her whole life putting violent criminals like us behind bars,” The family tittered, and Belvina waved a hand at him and coyly said, “Flatterer!” Sirius smiled and continued, “She has proven time and again to be one tough old biddy and will surely give slimy Gellert what for as the new Director of the Ministry War Department!”

Most everyone clapped, though Pollux looked furious still, Herbert grinned ferally, causing him to sit up straight and look away. Sirius took a wrapped present from Hesper and gave it to Belvina. “I had this cleaned up beautifully this afternoon, I thought you might like to have it.” She carefully unwrapped the present, and gasped when a shining black sword was revealed. It was long and broad, with a smooth, large onyx as the pommel. “Grandfather Cygnus’s sword?” She looked questioningly up at Sirius. He nodded and shrugged, “It was in the vault, I think it will do better work in your hand than guarded by some dragon.” She smiled and got up from the table and gave him and Hesper each a hug. Herbert patted her on the arm when she came back to her seat.

“Thank you everyone!” She exclaimed, looking back at the rest of them, “Should you like to enlist in the Magical Armed Forces, there will be ads posted in the Prophet!” Sirius barked a great big laugh at that, and there were several other titters, but Alphard was sure she was not joking. He caught Orion’s considering gaze and his blood ran cold. He could not imagine sweet, cheerful Orion as a soldier, not anymore than he could picture himself as one. He turned his attention back towards his dinner.

Sometime later, Galahad spoke loudly across the table, “Lucretia!” She looked up from laughing about something with Walburga. “That Tom Riddle, you said? Is that the same Tom Riddle as works at Borgin and Burkes with Uncle Caractacus? I was telling mum what you told me about his organization skills.”

Lucretia nodded happily, and Alphard unconsciously leaned in to hear them better. “Yes, that’s him! I’m sure Caractacus has much good to say about him, from what I understand, business is much better with Tom on staff.”

“It is.” Herbert said loudly from his end of the table, “Tac’s always going on about the boy, and the money, and the sales, and the artifacts. Gem in the rough, he says.” Alphard felt slightly nauseated, hearing Tom called, ‘Gem in the rough,’ but he held his tongue.

Belvina’s eyes lit up and focused on Alphard, he sat up startled. “Alphard! He was the one with you today, that’s your boyfriend then, this Tom Riddle?”

Alphard’s eyes widened comically, and he tried to refute it over Walburga’s cackle, Lucretia’s snort of laughter, and Orion’s exclamation of “Really?!” but it was moot at Pollux’s enraged, “WHAT?”

Irma had Pollux by the arm, to stop him from rising from the table, but it did not stop him from yelling, “You’re buggering some filthy half-blood—”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a bit of buggery Pollux.” Regulus said blandly, pointing a fork at Pollux, for all appearances bored.

Fenton Marsh added airily, “Maybe you should try it, it could help with,” he frowned and waved a hand toward Pollux’s person, his face puce with anger and his general ill-health apparent, “all of what’s wrong with that.”

“You—”

“Belvina.” Ziv Prince interjected in a monotone. Belvina smiled back cheerfully, “Yes dear?”

“Your nephew is unpardonably rude. Could you pass the salt?” Belvina’s grin sharpened, “Of course darling.”

Alphard felt he was going to burn through the chair, the wood flooring, the kitchen in the basement and straight through to the center of the earth with embarrassment, but his sister squeezed his hand tightly and said with exquisite smoothness after a few pats on her mouth with her linen napkin, “Speaking of Tom Riddle.” The family looked up at her dramatic pause, and she smiled. “The vernal equinox celebration will be on Tuesday March 20th, in just two short weeks. Tom will be conducting the protection ritual and doing a bit of divination, I will be leading a few healing rituals and the like. There will be lots of games and fun and feasting. It is at Woodhenge, in Wiltshire, this year so the Malfoy’s will be in charge of the food. You’re all invited of course, many of the old families will be there.” She smiled at them, and gripped Alphard’s hand tighter.

Lucretia said suddenly, “Cedrella is going to come, she promised!” she smiled, “Bringing a companion.” Cedrella paled, and Lysandra’s eyebrows rose in surprise just as Arcturus II huffed indignantly, “And I’ll be bringing dear Ignatius and his family…” Lucretia led them all on a long-winded tale of who all was invited, and what sorts of games there would be to play.

After desert, Dorea stood up with Charlus to announce their pregnancy, resulting in another round of cheers, and an ear-splitting whistle from Cassiopeia.

Belvina grabbed Alphard’s arm after dinner ended and dragged him to a corner as everyone else made their way out towards the drawing room or the floo parlor. She looked him squarely in the eyes, “Trust that I am truly sorry if I’ve inadvertently made your life much more difficult, I did not realize what I was saying was false, let alone that it would be so outrageous for your father.”

Alphard smiled meekly, “It’s okay, it’s not entirely false anyway.” At Belvina’s raised eyebrow he hurriedly said, “Tom’s not.” He took a deep cleansing breath. “Tom’s not my boyfriend, just a friend.” He looked away, “But I am homosexual, and it was going to be found out at some point, so it’s not so terrible.” He met her gaze again, “Father is… He takes after Grandfather Cygnus,” he finished, giving her a pointed look. She nodded in understanding. Cygnus had been an unmitigated arsehole his entire life. As the youngest son of Phineas Nigellus Black, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and wealthy scion of the Black Family, Cygnus had been raised a snobby little boy and grew into a horrible old man. He lived his entire life riding on the coattails of his father and brother, disparaging anyone who he thought below him, but without achieving anything in his life of importance beyond fathering children and leaving them to be raised by a cruel and neglectful mother. He had disowned his own son, Marius, when he had been found to be a squib, and he hated anything he deemed abnormal besides. Pollux had idolized and imitated him, and the result was two children who despised their parents, and one who barely thought of them at all.

 ---

**Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England**

**Saturday, March 9th, 1945, 11:45 p.m.**

Orion hurried down the stairs at the behest of Kreacher, who was worrying his ears and said in a woeful tone, “Young Master Orion must hurry, Miss Walburga is at the floo.” Orion gasped, “Waly!” then he addressed the elf, “Did she say what was wrong? It’s awfully late!” Kreacher just shook his head mournfully and led him through the door to the floo parlor. Standing there was a bored looking Walburga, and a distraught Alphard.

“Father kicked Alphie out, so I decided to leave too. We have all our things! Where shall we be staying?”

Orion just stared at them in shock. Walburga looked nonplussed, and Alphard heaved a big sigh. “I’ll go get father, shall I?” Orion offered and led them to the drawing room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this one took so long! It is a bit longer, 10,000 words all on its own. I had to take some time to research the pyromancy and the runes, create several family trees, and try to figure out who I wanted the Blacks to actually be, as people.
> 
> Next chapter will be the tournament! It might take a bit to get out as well, I want to step back and do some more rough outlining, make sure I can get this where I want it to go with speed. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! Who you like the best, who you hate, how you're doing, what you like, etc.  
> Thank you to everyone who has given kudos or commented thus far!


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